THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 

GIFT  OF 

National  Charity  League 
Newport  Leagut 


THE 

Master^Christian 

BY 

Marie   Corelli 

Author  of 

"  A   Romance   of   Two   Worlds,"    "  Barabbas," 
"  The   Sorrows   of   Satan." 


"  Why  call  ye  Me  'Lord,  Lord.'  and 
do    not    the    things    which    I    say  ? " 


NEW  YORK 

Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 
1900 


COPYRIGHT,  1900, 

BY 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


TO 
ALL  THOSE  CHURCHES 

WHO  QUARREL 
IN   THE   NAME   OF    CHRIST. 


The   Master-Christian. 


i. 

ALL  the  bells  were  ringing  the  Angelus. 

The  sun  was  sinking ; — and  from  the  many  quaint  and 
beautiful  grey  towers  which  crown  the  ancient  city  of 
Rouen,  the  sacred  chime  pealed  forth  melodiously,  float- 
ing with  sweet  and  variable  tone  far  up  into  the  warm 
autumnal  air.  Market  women  returning  to  their  cottage 
homes  after  a  long  day's  chaffering  disposal  of  their  fruit, 
vegetable,  and  flower-wares  in  the  town,  paused  in  their 
slow  trudge  along  the  dusty  road  and  crossed  themselves 
devoutly, — a  bargeman,  lazily  gliding  down  the  river  on 
his  flat  unwieldly  craft,  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
lifted  his  cap  mechanically,  and  muttered  more  from  habit 
than  reflection — "  Sainte  Marie,  Mere  de  Dieu,  priez  pour 
nous !  " — and  some  children  running  out  of  school,  came 
to  a  sudden  standstill,  listening  and  glancing  at  each 
other,  as  though  silently  questioning  whether  they  should 
say  the  old  church-formula  among  themselves  or  no? 
Whether,  for  example,  it  might  not  be  more  foolish  than 
wise  to  repeat  it  ?  Yes  ; — even  though  there  was  a  rumour 
that  the  Cardinal- Archbishop  of  a  certain  small,  half- 
forgotten,  but  once  historically-famed  Cathedral  town  of 
France  had  come  to  visit  Rouen  that  day, — a  Cardinal- 
Archbishop  reputed  to  be  so  pure  of  heart  and  simple  in 
nature,  that  the  people  of  his  far-off  and  limited  diocese 
regarded  him  almost  as  a  saint, — would  it  be  right  or 
reasonable  for  them,  as  the  secularly-educated  children  of 
modern  Progress,  to  murmur  an  "  Angelus  Domini," 
while  the  bells  rang?  It  was  a  doubtful  point; — for  the 
school  they  attended  was  a  Government  one,  and  pray- 
ers were  neither  taught  nor  encouraged  there,  France 
having  for  a  time  put  God  out  of  her  national  institutions. 
Nevertheless,  the  glory  of  that  banished  Creator  shone  in 
the  deepening  glow  of  the  splendid  heavens, — and — from 


2  The  Master-Christian. 

the  silver  windings  of  the  Seine  which,  turning  crimson 
in  the  light,  looped  and  garlanded  the  time-honoured  old 
city  as  with  festal  knots  of  rosy  ribbon,  up  to  the  trem- 
bling tops  of  the  tall  poplar  trees  fringing  the  river  banks, 
— the  warm  radiance  palpitated  with  a  thousand  ethereal 
hues  of  soft  and  changeful  colour,  transfusing  all  visible 
things  into  the  misty  semblance  of  some  divine  dwelling 
of  dreams.  Ding-dong — dingdong!  The  last  echo  of 
the  last  bell  died  away  upon  the  air — the  last  words  enun- 
ciated by  devout  priests  in  their  cloistered  seclusion  were 
said — "In  hora  mortis  nostral  Amen!" — the  market 
women  went  on  their  slow  way  homeward, — the  children 
scampered  off  in  different  directions,  easily  forgetful  of 
the  Old- World  petition  they  had  thought  of,  yet  left  un- 
uttered, — the  bargeman  and  his  barge  slipped  quietly 
away  together  down  the  windings  of  the  river  out  of 
sight ; — the  silence  following  the  clangour  of  the  chimes 
was  deep  and  impressive — and  the  great  Sun  had  all  the 
heaven  to  himself  as  he  went  down.  Through  the  beau- 
tiful rose-window  of  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame,  he 
flashed  his  parting  rays,  weaving  bright  patterns  of  ruby, 
gold  and  amethyst  on  the  worn  pavement  of  the  ancient 
pile  which  enshrines  the  tomb  of  Richard  the  Lion- 
Hearted,  as  also  that  of  Henry  the  Second,  husband  to 
Catherine  de  Medicis  and  lover  of  the  brilliant  Diane  de 
Poitiers, — and  one  broad  beam  fell  purpling  aslant  into 
the  curved  and  fretted  choir-chapel  especially  dedicated 
to  the  Virgin,  there  lighting  up  with  a  warm  glow  the 
famous  alabaster  tomb  known  as  "  Le  Mourant  "  or  "  The 
Dying  One."  A  strange  and  awesome  piece  of  sculpture 
truly,  is  this  same  "  Mourant  " ! — showing,  as  it  does 
with  deft  and  almost  appalling  exactitude,  the  last  con- 
vulsion of  a  strong  man's  body  gripped  in  the  death- 
agony.  No  delicate  delineator  of  shams  and  conventions 
was  the  artist  of  olden  days  whose  ruthless  chisel  shaped 
these  stretched  sinews,  starting  veins,  and  swollen  eye- 
lids half-closed  over  the  tired  eyes! — he  must  have  been 
a  sculptor  of  truth, — truth  downright  and  relentless, — 
truth  divested  of  all  graceful  coverings,  and  nude  as  the 
"  Dying  One  "  thus  realistically  portrayed.  Ugly  truth 
too, — unpleasant  to  the  sight  of  the  worldly  and  pleasure- 
loving  tribe  who  do  not  care  to  be  reminded  of  the  com- 
mon fact  that  they  all,  and  we  all,  must  die.  Yet  the 


The  Master-Christian.  3 

late  sunshine  flowed  very  softly  on  and  over  the  ghastly 
white,  semi-transparent  form,  outlining  it  with  as  much 
tender  glory  as  the  gracious  figure  of  Mary  Virgin  her- 
self, bending  with  outstretched  hands  from  a  grey  niche, 
fine  as  a  cobweb  of  old  lace  on  which  a  few  dim  jewels 
are  sewn.  Very  beautiful,  calm  and  restful  at  this  hour 
was  "  Our  Lady's  Chapel,"  \vith  its  high,  dark  inter- 
twisting arches,  mutilated  statues,  and  ancient  tattered 
battle-banners  hanging  from  the  black  roof  and  swaying 
gently  with  every  little  breath  of  wind.  The  air,  per- 
fumed with  incense-odours,  seemed  weighted  with  the 
memory  of  prayers  and  devotional  silences, — and 
in  the  midst  of  it  all,  surrounded  by  the  de- 
faced and  crumbling  emblems  of  life  and  death, 
and  the  equally  decaying  symbols  of  immortality, 
with  the  splendours  of  the  sinking  sun  shedding 
roseate  haloes  about  him,  walked  one  for  whom  eternal 
truths  outweighed  all  temporal  seemings, — Cardinal  Felix 
Bonpre,  known  favourably,  and  sometimes  alluded  to 
jestingly  at  the  Vatican,  as  "  Our  good  Saint  Felix." 
Tall  and  severely  thin,  with  fine  worn  features  of  ascetic 
and  spiritual  delicacy,  he  had  the  indefinably  removed  air 
of  a  scholar  and  thinker,  whose  life  was  not,  and  never 
could  be  in  accordance  with  the  latter-day  customs  of  the 
world ;  the  mild  blue  eyes,  clear  and  steadfast,  most  elo- 
quently suggested  "  the  peace  of  God  that  passeth  all 
understanding  "  ; — and  the  sensitive  intellectual  lines  of 
the  mouth  and  chin,  which  indicated  strength  and  deter- 
mined will,  at  the  same  time  declared  that  both  strength 
and  will  were  constantly  employed  in  the  doing  of  good 
and  the  avoidance  of  evil.  Xo  dark  furrows  of  hesitation, 
cowardice,  cunning,  meanness  or  weakness  marred  the 
expressive  dignity  and  openness  of  the  Cardinal's  coun- 
tenance,— the  very  poise  of  his  straight  spare  figure  and 
the  manner  in  which  he  moved,  silently  asserted  that  in- 
ward grace  of  spirit  without  which  there  is  no  true  grace 
of  body, — and  as  he  paused  in  his  slow  pacing 
to  and  fro  to  gaze  half-wistfully,  half-mournfully 
upon  the  almost  ghastly  artistic  achievement  of 
"  Le  Mourant "  he  sighed,  and  his  lips  moved 
as  if  in  prayer.  For  the  brief,  pitiful  history 
of  human  life  is  told  in  that  antique  and  richly-wrought 
alabaster, — its  beginning,  its  ambition,  and  its  end.  At 


4  The  Master-Christian. 

the  summit  of  the  shrine,  an  exquisite  bas-relief  shows 
first  of  all  the  infant  clinging  to  its  mother's  breast, — a 
stage  lower  down  is  seen  the  boy  in  the  eager  flush  of 
youth,  speeding  an  arrow  to  its  mark  from  the  bent 
bow, — then,  on  a  still  larger,  bolder  scale  of  design  is  de- 
picted the  proud  man  in  the  zenith  of  his  career,  a  noble 
knight  riding  forth  to  battle  and  to  victory,  armed  cap-a- 
pie,  his  war-steed  richly  caparisoned,  his  lance  in  rest, — 
and  finally,  on  the  sarcophagus  itself  is  stretched  his  nude 
and  helpless  form,  with  hands  clenched  in  the  last  gasp- 
ing struggle  for  breath,  and  every  muscle  strained  and 
fighting  against  the  pangs  of  dissolution. 

"  But,"  said  the  Cardinal  half  aloud,  with  the  gentle 
dawning  of  a  tender  smile  brightening  the  fine  firm  curve 
of  his  lips, — "  it  is  not  the  end  !  The  end  here,  no  doubt ; 
— but  the  beginning — ihere  I  " 

He  raised  his  eyes  devoutly,  and  instinctively  touched 
the  silver  crucifix  hanging  by  its  purple  ribbon  at  his 
breast.  The  orange-red  glow  of  the  sun  encompassed  him 
with  fiery  rings,  as  though  it  would  fain  consume  his 
thin,  black-garmented  form  after  the  fashion  in  which 
flames  consumed  the  martyrs  of  old, — the  worn  figures 
of  mediaeval  saints  in  their  half-broken  niches  stared  down 
upon  him  stonily,  as  though  they  would  have  said, — "  So 
we  thought, — even  we! — and  for  our  thoughts  and  for 
our  creed  we  suffered  willingly, — yet  lo,  we  have  come 
upon  an  age  of  the  world  in  which  the  people  know  us 
not, — or  knowing,  laugh  us  all  to  scorn." 

But  Cardinal  Bonpre  being  only  conscious  of  a  perfect 
faith,  discovered  no  hints  of  injustice  or  despair  in  the 
mutilated  shapes  of  the  Evangelists  surrounding  him,— 
they  were  the  followers  of  Christ, — and  being  such,  they 
were  bound  to  rejoice  in  the  tortures  which  made  their 
glory.  It  was  only  the  unhappy  souls  who  suffered  not 
for  Christ  at  all,  whom  he  considered  were  truly  to  be 
compassionated. 

"  And  if,"  he  murmured  as  he  moved  on — "  this  knight 
of  former  days,  who  is  now  known  to  us  chiefly,  alas !  as 
'  Le  Mourant ',  was  a  faithful  servant  of  our  Blessed 
Lord,  why  then  it  is  as  well  with  him  as  with  any  of  the 
holy  martyrs.  May  his  soul  rest  in  peace !  " 

Stopping  an  instant  at  the  next  sculptural  wonder  in 
his  way — the  elaborately  designed  tomb  of  Cardinal  Am- 


The  Master-Christian.  5 

boise,  concerning  the  eternal  fate  of  which  "  brother  in 
Christ  "  the  good  Felix  had  no  scruples  or  fears  whatever, 
he  stepped  softly  down  from  the  choir-chapel  where  he 
had  been  wandering  to  and  fro  for  some  time  in  solitary 
musings,  and  went  towards  the  great  central  nave.  It 
was  quite  empty ; — not  even  a  weary  silk-weaver,  escaped 
from  one  of  the  ever-working  looms  of  the  city,  had 
crept  in  to  tell  her  beads.  Broad,  vacant,  vast,  and  sug- 
gestive of  a  sublime  desolation,  the  grand  length  and 
width  of  the  Latin  Cross  which  shapes  the  holy  pre- 
cincts, stretched  into  vague  distance;  one  or  two  lamps 
were  burning  dimly  at  little  shrines  set  in  misty  dark  re- 
cesses,— a  few  votive  candles,  some  lit,  some  smouldered 
out,  leaned  against  each  other  crookedly  in  their  ricketty 
brass  stand,  fronting  a  battered  statue  of  the  Virgin.  The 
Angelus  had  ceased  ringing  some  ten  minutes  since, — 
and  now  one  solemn  bell,  swinging  high  up  in  the  Cathe- 
dral towers,  tolled  forth  the  hour  of  six,  slowly  and  with 
a  strong  pulsating  sound  which  seemed  to  shake  the 
building  down  to  its  very  vaults  and  deep  foundations. 
As  the  last  stroke  shivered  and  thundered  through  the  air, 
a  strain  of  music,  commencing  softly,  then  swelling  into 
fuller  melody,  came  floating  from  aloft,  following  the 
great  bell's  vibration.  Half  way  down  the  nave,  just  as 
he  was  advancing  slowly  towards  the  door  of  egress,  this 
music  overtook  the  Cardinal  like  an  arresting  angel,  bring- 
ing him  to  a  sudden  pause. 

'  The  organist  practises  late,"  he  said  aloud,  as  though 
speaking  to  some  invisible  companion ;  and  then  was  si- 
lent, listening.  Round  him  and  above  him  surged  the 
flood  of  rich  and  dulcet  harmony, — the  sunset  light 
through  the  blue  and  red  stained-glass  windows  grew 
paler  and  paler — the  towering  arches  which  sprang,  as  it 
were,  from  slender  stem-like  side-columns  up  to  full- 
flowering  boughs  of  Gothic  ornamentation,  crossing  and 
re-crossing  above  the  great  High  Altar,  melted  into  a 
black  dimness, — and  then — all  at  once,  without  any  ap- 
parent cause,  a  strange,  vague  suggestion  of  something 
supernatural  and  unseen  began  suddenly  to  oppress  the 
mind  of  the  venerable  prelate  with  a  curious  sense  of 
mingled  awe  and  fear.  Trembling  a  little,  he  knew  not 
why,  he  softly  drew  a  chair  from  one  of  the  shadowy  cor- 
ners, where  all  such  seats  were  piled  away  out  of  sight 


6  The  Master-Christian. 

so  that  they  might  not  disfigure  the  broad  and  open 
beauty  of  the  nave,  and,  sitting  down,  he  covered  his 
eyes  with  one  hand  and  strove  to  rouse  himself  from  the 
odd,  half-fainting  sensation  which  possessed  him.  Plow 
glorious  now  was  the  music  that  poured  like  a  torrent  from 
the  hidden  organ-loft !  How  full  of  searching  and  poten- 
tial proclamation! — the  proclamation  of  an  eternal,  un- 
guessed  mystery,  for  which  no  merely  human  speech 
might  ever  find  fit  utterance !  Some  divine  declaration  of 
God's  absolute  omnipresence, — or  of  Heaven's  sure  near- 
ness,— touched  the  heart  of  Felix  Bonpre,  as  he  sat  like 
an  enchanted  dreamer  among  the  tender  interweavings  of 
solemn  and  soothing  sound ; — carried  out  of  himself  and 
beyond  his  own  existence,  he  could  neither  pray  nor 
think,  till,  all  at  once,  upon  the  peaceful  and  devout  silence 
of  his  soul,  some  very  old,  very  familiar  words  struck 
sharply  as  though  they  were  quite  new, — as  though  they 
were  invested  suddenly  with  strange  and  startling  sig- 
nificance— 

"  When  the  son  of  Man  cometh,  think  ye  He  shall  find 
faith  on  earth  ?  " 

Slowly  he  withdrew  his  hand  from  his  eyes  and  gazed 
about  him,  half-startled,  half-appalled.  'Had  anyone 
spoken  these  words  ? — or  had  they  risen  of  themselves  as 
it  were  in  letters  of  fire  out  of  the  sea  of  music  that  was 
heaving  and  breaking  tumultuously  about  him? 

"  When  the  Son  of  Man  cometh',  think  ye  He  shall  find 
faith  on  earth?" 

The  question  seemed  to  be  whispered  in  his  ears  with 
a  thrilling  intensity  of  meaning ;  and  moved  by  a  sudden 
introspective  and  retrospective  repentance,  the  gentle  old 
man  began  mentally  to  grope  his  way  back  over  the  past 
years  of  his  life,  and  to  ask  himself  whether  in  very  truth 
that  life  had  been  well  or  ill  spent?  Viewed  by  his  own 
inner  contemplative  vision,  Cardinal  Felix  Bonpre  saw 
in  himself  nothing  but  wilful  sin  and  total  umvorthiness ; 
— but  in  the  eyes  of  those  he  had  served  and  assisted,  he 
was  a  blameless  priest, — a  man  beloved  of  God,  and  al- 
most visibly  encompassed  by  the  guardianship  of  angels. 
He  had  been  singularly  happy  in  his  election  to  a  diocese 
which,  though  it  had  always  had  an  Archbishop  for  its 
spiritual  head,  boasted  scarce  as  many  inhabitants  as  a 
prosperous  English  village, — and  the  result  of  this  was 


The  Master-Christian.  7 

that  he  had  lived  altogether  away  from  the  modern  world, 
passing  most  of  his  time  in  reading  and  study, — while 
for  relaxation,  he  permitted  himself  only  the  innocent 
delight  of  growing  the  finest  roses  in  his  neighbourhood. 
But  he  had  pious  scruples  even  about  this  rose-growing 
fancy  of  his, — he  had  a  lurking  distrust  of  himself  in  it,  as 
to  whether  it  was  not  a  purely  selfish  pleasure, — and  there- 
fore, to  somewhat  smooth  the  circumstance,  he  never  kept 
any  of  the  choice  blooms  for  his  own  gratification,  but 
gave  the  best  of  them  with  a  trust,  as  simple  as  it  was 
beautiful,  to  the  altar  of  the  Virgin,  sending  all  the  rest 
to  the  bedsides  of  the  sick  and  sorrowful,  or  to  the  coffins 
of  the  dead.  It  never  once  occurred  to  him  that  the  "  Car- 
dinal's roses,"  as  they  were  called,  were  looked  upon  by 
the  poor  people  who  received  them  as  miraculous  flowers 
long  after  they  had  withered, — that  special  virtues  were 
assigned  to  them — and  that  dying  lips  kissed  their  fra- 
grant petals  with  almost  as  much  devotion  as  the  holy 
crucifix,  because  it  was  instinctively  believed  that  they 
contained  a  mystic  blessing.  He  knew  nothing  of  all 
this; — he  \\as  too  painfully  conscious  of  his  own  short- 
comings,— and  of  late  years,  feeling  himself  growing  old, 
and  realising  that  every  day  brought  him  nearer  to  that 
verge  which  all  must  cross  in  passing  from  Time  into 
Eternity,  he  had  been  sorely  troubled  in  mind.  He  was 
wise  with  the  wisdom  which  comes  of  deep  reading,  lonely 
meditation,  and  fervent  study, — he  had  instructed  him- 
self in  the  modern  schools  of  thought  as  well  as  the 
ancient, — and  though  his  own  soul  was  steadfastly  set 
upon  the  faith  he  followed,  he  was  compassionately  aware 
of  a  strange  and  growing  confusion  in  the  world, — a 
combination  of  the  elements  of  evil,  which  threatened,  or 
seemed  to  threaten,  some  terrible  and  imminent  disaster. 
This  sorrowful  foreboding  had  for  a  long  time  preyed 
upon  him,  physically  as  well  as  mentally;  always  thin, 
he  had  grown  thinner  and  more  careworn,  till  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year  his  health  had  threatened  to  break 
down  altogether.  Whereupon  those  who  loved  him, 
growing  alarmed,  summoned  a  physician,  who,  (with  that 
sage  experience  of  doctors  to  whom  thought-trouble  is 
an  inexplicable  and  incurable  complication)  at  once  pro- 
nounced change  of  air  to  be  absolutely  necessary.  Car- 
dinal Bonpre  must  travel,  he  said,  and  seek  rest  and  mind- 


8  The  Master-Christian. 

distraction  in  the  contemplation  of  new  and  varying 
scenes.  With  smiling  and  resigned  patience  the  Cardinal 
obeyed  not  so  much  the  command  of  his  medical  attend- 
ant, as  the  anxious  desire  of  his  people, — and  thereupon 
departed  from  his  own  Cathedral-town  on  a  tour  of  sev- 
eral months,  during  which  time  he  inwardly  resolved  to 
try  and  probe  for  himself  the  truth  of  how  the  world  was 
going, — whether  on  the  downward  road  to  destruction  and 
death,  or  up  the  high  ascents  of  progress  and  life.  He 
went  alone  and  unattended, — he  had  arranged  to  meet 
his  niece  in  Paris  and  accompany  her  to  her  father's  house 
in  Rome, — and  he  was  on  his  way  to  Paris  now.  But  he 
had  purposely  made  a  long  and  round-about  journey 
through  France  with  the  intention  of  studying  the  reli- 
gious condition  of  the  people ;  and  by  the  time  he  reached 
Rouen,  the  old  sickness  at  his  heart  had  rather  increased 
than  diminished.  The  confusion  and  the  trouble  of  the 
world  were  not  mere  hearsay, — they  in  very  truth  existed. 
And  what  seemed  to  the  Cardinal  to  be  the  chief  cause 
of  the  general  bewilderment  of  things,  was  the  growing 
lack  of  faith  in  God  and  a  Hereafter.  How  came  this 
lack  of  faith  into  the  Christian  world?  Sorrowfully  he 
considered  the  question, — and  persistently  the  same  an- 
swer always  asserted  itself — that  the  blame  rested  prin- 
cipally with  the  Church  itself,  and  its  teachers  and  preach- 
ers, and  not  only  in  one,  but  in  all  forms  of  Creed. 

"  We  have  erred  in  some  vital  manner,"  mused  the  Car- 
dinal, with  a  feeling  of  strange  personal  contrition,  as 
though  he  were  more  to  blame  than  any  of  his  compeers 
— "  We  have  failed  to  follow  the  Master's  teaching  in  its 
true  perfection.  We  have  planted  in  ourselves  a  seed 
of  corruption,  and  we  have  permitted — nay,  some  of  us 
have  encouraged — its  poisonous  growth,  till  it  now  threat- 
ens to  contaminate  the  whole  field  of  labour." 

And  he  thought  of  the  words  of  St.  John  the  Divine 
to  the  Church  of  Sardis — 

"I  know  thy  zvorks, — that  thou  hast  a  name  that 
thou  livest  and  art  dead. 

"  Be  watchful,  and  strengthen  the  things  that  remain, 
that  are  ready  to  die, — for  I  have  not  found  thy  works 
perfect  before  God.  Remember  therefore  how  thou  hast 
received  and  heard,  and  hold  fast  and  repent. 

"If,  therefore,  thou  shalt  not  watch,  I  will  come  on 


The  Master-Christian.  9 

thce  as  a  thief,  and  thou  shall  not  know  what  hour  I  will 
come  upon  thee. 

"  Thou  hast  a  few  names  even  in  Sardis,  which  have 
not  defiled  their  garments,  and  they  shall  walk  with  me 
in  n'hite,  for  they  are  worthy. 

"  He  that  overcometh,  the  same  shall  be  clothed  in 
white  raiment ;  and  I  will  not  blot'  his  name  out  of  the 
Book  of  Life,  but  I  will  confess  his  name  before  my 
Father  and  before  his  angels." 

Dimmer  and  duskier  grew  the  long  shadows  now  gath- 
ering in  the  Cathedral, — two  of  the  twinkling  candles  near 
the  Virgin's  statue  suddenly  sank  in  their  sockets  with 
a  spluttering  noise  and  guttered  out, — the  solemn  music 
of  the  organ  continued,  growing  softer  and  softer  as  it 
sounded,  till  it  crept  through  the  vastness  of  the  build- 
ing like  a  light  breeze  wafted  from  the  sea,  bringing  with 
it  suggestions  of  far  flower-islands  in  the  tropics,  golden 
shores  kissed  by  languid  foam,  and  sweet-throated  birds 
singing ;  and  still  the  Cardinal  sat  thinking  of  griefs  and 
cares  and  inexplicable  human  perplexities,  which  were  not 
his  own,  but  which  seemed  to  burden  the  greater  portion 
of  the  world.  He  drew  no  comparisons, — he  never  con- 
sidered that,  as  absolutely  as  day  is  day  and  night  is 
night,  his  own  beautiful  and  placid  life,  lived  in  the  faith 
of  God  and  Christ,  was  tortured  by  no  such  storm-tossed 
tribulation  as  that  which  affected  the  lives  of  many  others, 
— and  that  the  old  trite  saying,  almost  despised  because 
so  commonplace,  namely  that  "  goodness  makes  happi- 
ness," is  as  eternally  true  as  that  the  sun  shines  in  heaven, 
and  that  it  is  only  evil  which  creates  misery.  To  think 
of  himself  in  the  matter  never  occurred  to  him ;  had  he 
for  a  moment  entertained  the  merest  glimmering  of  an 
idea  that  he  was  better,  and  therefore  happier  than  most 
men,  he  would,  in  his  own  opinion,  have  been  guilty  of 
unpardonable  arrogance  and  presumption.  What  he  saw, 
and  what  sincerely  and  unselfishly  grieved  him,  was  that 
the  people  of  this  present  age  were  unhappy — discontented 
— restless, — that  something  of  the  simple  joy  of  existence 
had  gone  out  of  the  world, — that  even  the  brilliant  dis- 
coveries of  science  and  the  so-called  "  progress  "  of  men 
only  served  apparently  to  increase  their  discontent, — 
that  when  they  were  overcome  by  sorrow,  sickness,  or 
death,  they  had  little  philosophy  and  less  faith  to  support 


io  The  Master-Christian. 

them, — and  that  except  in  the  few  cases  where  Christ 
was  still  believed  in,  they  gave  way  altogether  and  broke 
down  like  frightened  children  in  a  storm. 

"Thou  hast  a  few  names,  even  in  Sardis!"  A  few 
names  !  But  how  few  !  Universal  weariness  of  life  seemed 
a  disease  of  the  time, — there  was  nothing  that  seemed  to 
satisfy — even  the  newest  and  most  miraculous  results  of 
scientific  research  and  knowledge  ceased  to  be  interesting 
after  the  first  week  of  their  triumphant  public  demonstra- 
tion and  acceptance. 

"  The  world  must  be  growing  old,"  said  the  Cardinal 
sadly, — "  It  must  be  losing  its  vigour, — it  is  too  tired  to 
lift  itself  to  the  light;  too  weary  and  worn  out  to  pray. 
Perhaps  the  end  of  all  present  things  is  at  hand, — perhaps 
it  is  the  beginning  of  the  promised  '  new  heavens  and  new 
earth.' ': 

Just  then  the  organ-music  ceased  abruptly,  and  the  Car- 
dinal, waking  from  his  thoughts  as  from  a  trance,  rose 
up  slowly  and  stood  for  a  moment  facing  the  great  High 
Altar,  which  at  that  distance  could  only  just  be  discerned 
among  its  darkening  surroundings  by  the  little  flickering 
flame  of  the  suspended  lamp  burning  dimly  before  the 
holy  Tabernacle,  wherein  was  locked  with  golden  key 
behind  snowy  doors  of  spotless  marble,  the  sacred  and 
mysterious  Host. 

"  When  the  Son  of  Man  cometh,  think  ye  He  shall 
find  faith  on  earth  f" 

Again  that  searching  question  repeated  itself  in  his 
mind  so  distinctly  as  to  be  echoed  in  his  ears, — the  deep 
silence  around  him  seemed  waiting  expectantly  for  some 
reply,  and  moved  by  a  strange  spirit  of  exaltation  within 
him,  he  answered  half  aloud — 

"  Yes !  Surely  He  will  find  faith, — if  only  in  the  few ! 
There  are  '  a  few  names,  even  in  Sardis ! '  In  the  sor- 
rowful and  meek, — in  the  poor  and  patient  and  down- 
trodden martyrs  of  humanity,  He  will  find  faith ; — in  the 
very  people  He  died  to  save  He  will  discover  that  most 
precious  and  inspiring  of  all  virtues!  But  in  the  so- 
called  wise  and  brilliant  favourites  of  the  world  He  will 
not  find  it, — in  the  teachers  of  the  people  He  will  search 
for  it  in  vain.  By  the  writers  of  many  books  He  shall  find 
Himself  scorned  and  rejected, — in  the  cheap  and  spurious 
philosophy  of  modern  egotists  He  will  see  His  doctrines 


The  Master-Christian.  1 1 

mocked  at  and  denounced  as  futile.  Few  men  there  are 
in  these  days  who  would  deny  themselves  for  His  sake,  or 
sacrifice  a  personal  passion  for  the  purer  honouring  of 
His  name.  Inasmuch  as  the  pride  of  great  learning 
breeds  arrogance,  so  the  more  the  wonder  of  God's  work 
is  displayed  to  us,  the  more  are  we  dazzled  and  con- 
founded :  and  so  in  our  blindness  we  turn  from  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Creator  to  that  of  His  creation,  forgetting 
that  all  the  visible  universe  is  but  the  outcome  or  expres- 
sion of  the  hidden  Divine  Intelligence  behind  it.  What 
of  the  marvels  of  the  age! — the  results  of  science! — the 
strange  psychic  prescience  and  knowledge  of  things  more 
miraculous  yet  to  be ! — these  are  but  hints  and  warnings 
of  the  approach  of  God  himself — '  coming  in  a  cloud  with 
power  and  great  glory'  !  " 

As  he  thus  spoke,  he  raised  his  hand  out  of  old  habit 
acquired  in  preaching,  and  a  ray  from  the  after-glow  of 
the  sunken  sun  lit  up  the  jewel  in  the  apostolic  ring  he 
wore,  warming  its  pale  green  lustre  to  a  dim  violet  spark 
as  of  living  fire.  His  fine  features  were  for  a  moment 
warm  with  fervour  and  feeling, — then, — suddenly,  he 
thought  of  the  great  world  outside  all  creeds, — of  the 
millions  and  millions  of  human  beings  who  neither  know 
nor  accept  Christ, — of  the  Oriental  races  with  their  in- 
tricate and  beautiful  systems  of  philosophy, — of  savage 
tribes,  conquered  and  unconquered, — of  fierce  yet  brave 
Turkish  warriors  who  are,  with  all  their  faults,  at  any  rate 
true  to  the  faith  they  profess — and  lastly — more  than  all 
— of  the  thousands  upon  thousands  of  Christians  in  Chris- 
tian lands,  who  no  more  believe  in  Him  whose  holy  name 
they  take  in  vain,  than  in  any  Mumbo-Jumbo  fetish  of  un- 
taught barbarians.  Were  these  to  perish  utterly?  Had 
they  no  immortal  souls  to  save?  Had  the  churches  been 
at  work  for  eighteen  hundred  years  and  more,  to  bring 
about  no  better  results  than  this, — namely  that  there  were 
only  "  a  few  names  in  Sardis "  ?  If  so,  were  not  the 
churches  criminally  to  blame?  Yea,  even  holy  Mother- 
Church,  whose  foundation  rested  on  the  memory  of  the 
Lying  Apostle?  Rapidly,  and  as  if  suggested  by  some 
tormenting  devil,  these  thoughts  possessed  the  Cardinal's 
brain,  burning  into  it  and  teasing  and  agonising  the  ten- 
der fibres  of  his  conscience  and  his  soul.  Could  God,  the 
great  loving  Creator  of  countless  universes,  be  so  cruel 


12  The  Master-Christian. 

as  to  wantonly  destroy  millions  of  helpless  creatures  in 
one  small  planet,  because  through  ignorance  or  want  of 
proper  teaching  they  had  failed  to  find  Christ? — was  it 
possible  that  he  could  only  extend  his  mercy  and  forgive- 
ness to  the  "  few  names  in  Sardis  "  ? 

"  Yet  our  world  is  but  a  pin's  point  in  the  eternal  im- 
mensities," argued  the  Cardinal  almost  wistfully — "  Only 
a  few  can  expect  to  be  saved." 

Nevertheless,  this  reasoning  did  not  satisfy  him.  Again, 
what  of  these  millions?  Were  they  to  be  forever  lost? 
Then  why  so  much  waste  of  life  ?  Waste  of  life !  There  is 
no  such  thing  as  waste  of  life — this  much  modern  science 
the  venerable  Felix  knew.  Nothing  can  be  wasted, — not 
a  breath,  not  a  scene,  not  a  sound.  All  is  treasured  up  in 
Nature's  store-house  and  can  be  eternally  reproduced  at 
Nature's  will.  Then  what  was  to  become  of  the  myriads 
of  human  beings  and  immortal  souls  whom  the  Church 
had  failed  to  rescue ?  The  Church  had  failed!  Why  had 
it  failed?  Whose  the  fault? — whose  the  weakness? — for 
fault  and  weakness  were  existent  somewhere. 

"  When  the  Son  of  Man  cometh,  think  ye  He  shall  find 
faith  on  earth  ?  " 

"  No !  "  whispered  the  Cardinal,  suddenly  forced,  as  it 
were  in  his  own  despite,  to  contradict  his  former  asser- 
tion— "  No !  "  He  paused,  and  mechanically  making  his 
way  towards  the  door  of  the  Cathedral,  he  dipped  his  fin- 
gers into  the  holy  water  that  glistened  dimly  in  its  mar- 
ble basin  near  the  black  oak  portal,  and  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross  on  brow  and  breast ; — "  He  will  not  find 
faith  where  faith  should  be  pre-eminent.  It  must  be 
openly  confessed — repentingly  admitted, — He  will  not 
find  faith  even  in  the  Church  He  founded, — I  say  it  to  our 
shame !  " 

His  head  drooped,  as  though  his  own  words  had 
wounded  him,  and  with  an  air  of  deep  dejection  he  slowly 
passed  out.  The  huge  iron-bound  door  swung  noiselessly 
to  and  fro  behind  him, — the  grave-toned  bell  in  the  tower 
struck  seven.  Outside,  a  tender  twilight  mellowed  the  at- 
mosphere and  gave  brightness  to  approaching  evening; 
inside,  the  long  shadows,  gathering  heavily  in  the  aisles 
and  richly  sculptured  hollows  of  the  side-chapels,  brought 
night  before  its  time.  The  last  votive  candle  at  the  Vir- 
gin's shrine  flickered  down  and  disappeared  like  a  firefly 


The  Master-Christian.  13 

in  dense  blackness, — the  last  echo  of  the  bell  died  in  a 
tremulous  vibration  up  among  the  high-springing  roof- 
arches,  and  away  into  the  solemn  corners  where  the  name- 
less dead  reposed, — the  last  impression  of  life  and  feeling 
vanished  with  the  retreating  figure  of  the  Cardinal — and 
the  great  Cathedral,  the  Sanctuary  and  House  of  God, 
took  upon  itself  the  semblance  of  a  funeral  vault, — a  dark, 
Void,  wherein  but  one  red  star,  the  lamp  before  the  Altar, 
burned. 


II. 

LOVELY  to  a  poet  or  an  artist's  eye  is  the  unevenly-built 
and  picturesque  square  of  Rouen  in  which  the  Cathedral 
stands, — lovely,  and  suggestive  of  historical  romance  in 
all  its  remote  corners,  its  oddly-shaped  houses,  its  by- 
ways and  crooked  little  nights  of  steps  leading  to  no- 
where, its  gables  and  slanting  roofs,  and  its  utter  ab- 
sence of  all  structural  proportion.  A  shrine  here,  a  broken 
statue  there, — a  half-obliterated  coat-of-arms  over  an  old 
gateway, — a  rusty  sconce  fitted  fast  into  the  wall  to  sup- 
port a  lantern  no  longer  needed  in  these  days  of  gas  and 
electricity, — an  ancient  fountain  overgrown  with  weed, 
or  a  projecting  vessel  of  stone  for  holy  water,  in  which 
small  birds  bathe  and  disport  themselves  after  a  shower 
of  rain, — those  are  but  a  few  of  the  curious  fragments  of 
a  past  time  which  make  the  old  place  interesting  to  the 
student,  and  more  than  fascinating  to  the  thinker  and 
dreamer.  The  wonderful  "  Hotel  Bourgtheroulde,"  dat- 
ing from  the  time  of  Francis  the  First,  and  bearing  on  its 
sculptured  walls  the  story  of  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of 
Gold,  in  company  with  the  strangely-contrasting  "  Alle- 
gories ",  from  Petrarch's  "  Triumphs  ",  is  enough  in  itself 
to  keep  the  mind  engrossed  with  fanciful  musings  for  an 
hour.  How  did  Petrarch  and  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of 
Gold  come  together  in  the  brain  of  the  sculptor  who  long 
ago  worked  at  these  ancient  bas-reliefs?  One  wonders, 
but  the  wonder  is  in  vain, — there  is  no  explanation ; — and 
the  "  Bourgtheroulde  "  remains  a  pleasing  and  fantastic 
architectural  mystery.  Close  by,  through  the  quaint  old 
streets  of  the  Epicerie  and  "  Gross  Horloge  ",  walked  no 
doubt  in  their  young  days  the  brothers  Corneille,  before 
they  evolved  from  their  meditative  souls  the  sombre  and 
hea'vy  genius  of  French  tragedy, — and  not  very  far  away, 
up  one  of  those  little  shadowy  winding  streets  and  out  at 
the  corner,  stands  the  restored  house  of  Diane  de  Poitiers, 
so  sentient  and  alive  in  its  very  look  that  one  almost  ex- 
pects to  see  at  the  quaint  windows  the  beautiful  wicked 


The  Master-Christian.  15 

face  of  the  woman  who  swayed  the  humours  of  a  king  by 
her  smile  or  her  frown. 

Cardinal  Bonpre,  walking  past  the  statery  fourteenth- 
century  Gothic  pile  of  the  Palais  de  Justice,  thought  half- 
vaguely  of  some  of  these  things, — but  they  affected  him 
less  than  they  might  have  done  had  his  mind  not  been  full 
of  the  grand  music  he  had  just  heard  in  the  Cathedral, 
and  of  the  darkness  that  had  slowly  gathered  there,  as 
though  in  solemn  commingling  with  the  darkness  which 
had  at  the  same  time  settled  over  his  soul.  A  great  op- 
pression weighed  upon  him ; — almost  he  judged  himself 
guilty  of  mortal  sin,  for  had  he  not  said  aloud  and  boldly, 
while  facing  the  High  Altar  of  the  Lord,  that  even  in 
the  Church  itself  faith  was  lacking?  Yes,  he,  a  Cardinal- 
Archbishop,  had  said  this  thing;  he  had  as  it  were  pro- 
claimed it  on  the  silence  of  the  sacred  precincts, — and  had 
he  not  in  this,  acted  unworthily  of  his  calling?  Had  he 
not  almost  uttered  blasphemy?  Grieved  and  puzzled,  the 
good  Felix  went  on  his  way,  almost  unseeingly,  towards 
the  humble  inn  where  he  had  elected  to  remain  for  the 
brief  period  of  his  visit  to  Rouen, — an  inn  where  no  one 
stayed  save  the  very  poorest  of  travellers,  this  fact  being 
its  chief  recommendation  in  the  eyes  of  the  Cardinal.  For 
it  must  be  conceded,  that  viewed  by  our  latter-day  ideas 
of  personal  comfort  and  convenience,  the  worthy  prelate 
had  some  very  old-world  and  fantastic  notions.  One  of 
these  notions  was  a  devout  feeling  that  he  should,  so  far 
as  it  was  humanly  possible,  endeavour  to  obey  the  Mas- 
ter whose  doctrine  he  professed  to  follow.  This,  it  will 
be  admitted,  was  a  curious  idea.  Considering  the  bold 
and  blasphemous  laxity  of  modern  Christian  customs,  it 
was  surely  quite  a  fanatical  idea.  Yet  he  had  his  own 
Church-warrant  for  such  a  rule  of  conduct ;  and  chief 
among  the  Evangelic  Counsels  writ  down  for  his  ex- 
ample was  Voluntary  Poverty.  Yes! — Voluntary  Pov- 
erty,— notwithstanding  the  countless  treasures  lying  idle 
and  wasted  in  the  Vatican,  and  the  fat  sinecures  enjoyed 
by  bishops  and  archbishops ;  which  things  exist  in  di- 
rect contradiction  and  disobedience  to  the  command  of 
Christ.  Christ  Himself  lived  on  the  earth  in  poverty, — 
He  visited  only  the  poorest  and  simplest  habitations, — 
and  never  did  He  set  His  sacred  foot  within  a  palace, 
save  the  palace  of  the  High  Priest  where  He  was  con- 


1 6  The  Master-Christian. 

demned  to  die.  Much  symbolic  meaning  did  Cardinal 
Felix  discover  in  this  incident, — and  often  would  he  muse 
upon  it  gravely. 

"  The  Divine  is  condemned  to  die  in  all  palaces,"  he 
would  say, — "  It  is  only  in  the  glorious  world  of  Nature, 
under  the  sunlit  or  starlit  expanse  of  heaven,  that  the  god 
in  us  can  live ;  and  it  was  not  without  some  subtle  cause 
of  intended  instruction  to  mankind  that  the  Saviour  al- 
ways taught  His  followers  in  the  open  air." 

There  was  what  might  be  called  a  palace  hard  by,  to 
which  Bonpre  had  been  invited,  and  where  he  would  have 
been  welcome  to  stay  as  long  as  he  chose, — the  house  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Rouen — a  veritable  abode  of  luxury  as 
compared  with  the  Hotel  Poitiers,  which  was  a  dingy 
little  tumble-down  building,  very  old,  and  wearing  a  con- 
scious air  of  feebleness  and  decrepitude  which  was  al- 
most apologetic.  Its  small  windows,  set  well  back  in 
deeply  hollowed  carved  arches  had  a  lack-lustre  gleam, 
as  of  very  aged  eyes  under  shelving  brows, — its  narrow 
door,  without  either  bolts  or  bars,  hung  half-aslant  upon 
creaking  rusty  hinges,  and  was  never  quite  shut  either 
by  day  or  night, — yet  from  the  porch  a  trailing  mass  of 
"  creeping  jenny  "  fell  in  a  gold-dotted  emerald  fringe 
over  the  head  of  any  way-worn  traveller  passing  in, — 
making  a  brightness  in  a  darkness,  and  suggesting  some- 
thing not  altogether  uncheery  in  the  welcome  provided. 
They  were  very  humble  folk  who  kept  the  Hotel  Poitiers, 
— the  host,  Jean  Patoux,  was  a  small  market-gardener 
who  owned  a  plot  of  land  outside  Rouen,  which  he  chiefly 
devoted  to  the  easy  growing  of  potatoes  and  celery — his 
wife  had  her  hands  full  with  the  domestic  business  of  the 
hotel  and  the  cares  of  her  two  children,  Henri  and  Babette, 
the  most  incorrigible  imps  of  mischief  that  ever  lived  in 
Rouen  or  out  of  it.  Madame  Patoux,  large  of  body,  un- 
wieldy in  movement,  but  clean  as  a  new  pin,  and  with  a 
fat  smile  of  perpetual  contentment  on  her  round  visage, 
professed  to  be  utterly  worn  to  death  by  the  antics  of 
these  children  of  hers,— but  nevertheless  she  managed  to 
grow  stouter  every  day  with  a  persistency  and  fortitude 
which  denoted  the  reserved  forces  of  her  nature, — and 
her  cooking,  always  excellent,  never  went  wrone  because 
Babette  had  managed  to  put  her  doll  in  one  of  the  sauce- 
pans, or  Henri  had  essayed  to  swim  a  paper  boat  in  the 


The  Master-Christian.  17 

soup.  Things  went  on  somehow ;  Patoux  himself  was 
perfectly  satisfied  with  his  small  earnings  and  position  in 
life — Madame  Patoux  felt  that  "  le  bon  Dieu  "  was  spe- 
cially engaged  in  looking  after  her, — and  as  long  as  the 
wicked  Babette  and  the  wickeder  Henri  threw  themselves 
wildly  into  her  arms  and  clung  round  her  fat  neck  implor- 
ing pardon  after  any  and  every  misdeed,  and  sat  for  a 
while  "  en  penitence "  in  separate  corners  reading  the 
"  Hours  of  Mary  ",  they  might  be  as  naughty  as  they 
chose  over  and  over  again  so  far  as  the  good-natured 
mother  was  concerned.  Just  now,  however,  unusual  calm 
appeared  to  have  settled  on  the  Patoux  household ; — an 
atmosphere  of  general  placidity  and  peace  prevailed,  which 
had  the  effect  of  imparting  almost  a  stately  air  to  the 
tumble-down  house,  and  a  suggestion  of  luxury  to  the 
poorly-furnished  rooms.  Madame  Patoux  herself  was 
conscious  of  a  mysterious  dignity  in  her  surroundings, 
and  moved  about  on  her  various  household  duties  with 
less  bounce  and  fuss  than  was  her  ordinary  custom, — 
and  Henri  and  Babette  sat  quiet  without  being  told  to  do 
so,  moved  apparently  by  a  sudden  and  inexplicable  desire 
to  study  their  lessons.  All  this  had  been  brought  about. 
by  the  advent  of  Cardinal  Bonpre,  who  with  his  kind  face, 
gentle  voice  and  beneficent  manner,  had  sought  and  found 
lodging  at  the  Hotel  Poitiers,  notwithstanding  Madame 
Patoux's  profuse  apologies  for  the  narrowness  and  in- 
convenience of  her  best  rooms. 

"  For  look  you,  Monseigneur,"  she  murmured,  defer- 
entially, "  How  should  we  have  ever  expected  such  an 
honour  as  the  visit  of  a  holy  Cardinal-Archbishop  to  our 
poor  little  place!  There  are  many  new  houses  on  the 
Boulevards  which  could  have  accommodated  Monseigneur 
with  every  comfort, — and  that  he  should  condescend  to 
bestow  the  blessing  of  his  presence  upon  us, — ah !  it  was 
a  special  dispensation  of  Our  Lady  which  was  too  amaz- 
ing and  wonderful  to  be  at  once  comprehended !  " 

Thus  Madame  Patoux,  with  breathless  pauses  between 
her  sentences,  and  many  profound  curtseyings;  but  the 
good  Cardinal  waived  aside  her  excuses  and  protestations, 
and  calling  her  "  My  daughter  ",  signed  the  cross  on  her 
brow  with  paternal  gentleness,  assuring  her  that  he  would 
give  her  as  little  trouble  as  any  other  casual  visitor. 

"  Trouble ! — Ah,  heaven  ! — could  anything  be  a  trouble 


1 8  The  Master-Christian. 

for  Monseigneur !  "  and  Madame  Patoux,  moved  to  tears 
by  the  quiet  contentment  with  which  the  Cardinal  took 
possession  of  the  two  bare,  common  rooms  which  were 
the  best  she  could  place  at  his  disposal,  hurried  away, 
and  hustling  Henri  and  Babette  like  two  little  roly-poly 
balls  before  her  into  the  kitchen,  she  told  them  with  much . 
emphasis  that  there  was  a  saint  in  the  house, — a  saint  fit 
to  be  the  holy  companion  of  any  of  those  who  had  their 
niches  up  in  the  Cathedral  near  the  great  rose-window, — 
and  that  if  they  were  good  children  they  would  very  likely 
see  an  angel  coming  down  from  heaven  to  visit  him. 
Babette  put  her  finger  in  her  mouth  and  looked  incredu- 
lous. She  had  a  vague  belief  in  angels, — but  Henri,  with 
the  cheap  cynicism  of  the  modern  French  lad  was  anything 
but  sure  about  them. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  There's  a  boy  in  our  school  who 
says  there  is  no  God  at  all,  and  that  it's  no  use  having 
priests  or  Cardinals  or  Cathedrals, — it's  all  rubbish  and 
humbug !  " 

"  Poor  little  miserable  monster !  "  exclaimed  Madame 
Patoux,  as  she  peered  into  the  pot  where  the  soup  for  the 
.Cardinal's  supper  was  simmering — "  He  is  arranging 
himself  to  become  a  thief  or  a  murderer,  be  sure  of  that, 
Henri ! — and  thou,  who  art  trained  in  all  thy  holy  duties 
by  the  good  Pere  Laurent,  who  teaches  thee  everything 
which  the  school  is  not  wise  enough  to  teach,  ought  never 
to  listen  to  such  wickedness.  If  there  were  no  God,  we 
should  not  be  alive  at  all,  thou  foolish  child! — for  it  is 
only  our  blessed  Saviour  and  the  saints  that  keep  the 
world  going." 

Henri  was  silent, — Babette  looked  at  him  and  made  a 
little  grimace  of  scorn. 

"  If  the  Cardinal  is  a  saint,"  she  said — "  he  should  be 
able  to  perform  a  miracle.  The  little  Fabien  Doucet  has 
been  lame  for  seven  years;  we  shall  bring  him  to  Mon- 
seigneur, and  he  will  mend  his  leg  and  make  him  well. 
Then  we  shall  believe  in  saints  afterwards." 

Madame  Patoux  turned  her  warm  red  face  round  from 
the  fire  over  which  she  was  bending,  and  stared  at  her 
precocious  offspring  aghast. 

"  What !  You  will  dare  to  address  yourself  to  the  Car- 
dinal!  "  she  cried  vociferously — "  You  will  dare  to  trou- 
ble him  with  such  foolishness?  Mon  Dieu ! — is  it  pos- 


The  Master-Christian.  19 

sible  to  be  so  wicked !  But  listen  to  me  well ! — If  you 
presume  to  say  one  saucy  word  to  Monseigneur,  you  shall 
be  punished !  What  have  you  to  do  with  the  little  Fabien 
Doucet  ? — the  poor  child  is  sickly  and  diseased  by  the  will 
of  God." 

"  I  don't  see  why  it  should  be  God's  will  to  make  a  boy 

sickly  and  diseased "  began  the  irrepressible  Henri, 

when  his  mother  cut  him  short  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot 
and  a  cry  of — 

"  Tais-toi !  Silence !  Wicked  boy ! — thou  wilt  kill  me 
with  thy  naughty  speeches!  All  this  evil  comes  of  the 
school, — I  would  thy  father  had  never  been  compelled 
to  send  thee  there  !  " 

As  she  said  this  with  a  vast  amount  of  heat  and  energy, 
Henri,  seized  by  some  occult  and  inexplicable  emotion, 
burst  without  warning  into  loud  and  fitful  weeping,  the 
sound  whereof  resembled  the  yelling  of  a  tortured  sav- 
age,— and  Babette,  petrified  at  first  by  the  appalling  noise, 
presently  gave  way  likewise,  and  shrieked  a  wild  accom- 
paniment. 

"  What  ails  my  children  ?  "  said  a  gentle  voice,  dis- 
tinct and  clear  in  its  calm  intonation  even  in  the  midst 
of  the  uproar,  and  Cardinal  Bonpre,  tall  and  stately,  sud- 
denly appeared  upon  the  threshold — "  What  little  sorrows 
are  these  ?  " 

Henri's  roar  ceased  abruptly, — Babette's  shrill  wailing 
dropped  into  awed  silence.  Both  youngsters  stared 
amazed  at  the  venerable  Felix,  whose  face  and  figure  ex- 
pressed such  composed  dignity  and  sweetness ;  and 
Madame  Patoux,  hastily  and  with  frequent  gasps  for 
breath,  related  the  history  of  the  skirmish. 

"  And  what  will  become  of  such  little  devils  when  they 
grow  older,  the  Blessed  Virgin  only  knows !  "  she  groaned 
— "  For  even  now  they  are  so  suspicious  in  nature,  that 
they  will  not  believe  in  their  dinner  till  they  see  it !  " 

Something  like  a  faint  grin  widened  the  mouths  of 
Henri  and  Babette  at  this  statement  made  with  so  much 
distressed  fervour  by  their  angry  mother, — but  the  Car- 
dinal did  not  smile.  His  face  had  grown  very  pale  and 
grave,  almost  stern. 

"  The  children  are  quite  right,  my  daughter,"  he  said 
gently, — "  I  am  no  saint !  I  have  performed  no  miracles. 
I  am  a  poor  sinner, — striving  to  do  well,  but  alas ! — for 


2O  The  Master-Christian. 

ever  striving  in  vain.  The  days  of  noble  living  are  past , 
— and  we  are  all  too  much  fallen  in  the  ways  of  error  to 
deserve  that  our  Lord  should  bless  the  too  often  half- 
hearted and  grudging  labour  of  his  so-called  servants. 
Come  here,  ma  mignonne !  "  he  continued,  calling  Babette, 
who  approached  him  with  a  curious  air  of  half-timid  bold- 
ness— "  Thou  art  but  a  very  little  girl,"  he  said,  laying 
his  thin  white  hand  softly  on  her  tumbled  brown  curls — 
"  Nevertheless,  I  should  be  a  very  foolish  old  man  if  I 
despised  thee,  or  thy  thoughts,  or  thy  desire  to  know  the 
truth  for  truth's  sake.  Therefore  to-morrow  thou  shalt 
bring  me  this  afflicted  friend  of  thine,  and  though  I  have 
no  divine  gifts,  I  will  do  even  as  the  Master  commanded, 
— I  will  lay  my  hands  on  him  in  blessing  and  pray  that 
he  may  be  healed.  More  than  this  is  not  in  my  power,  my 
child ! — if  a  mirack  is  to  be  worked,  it  is  our  dear  Lord 
only  who  can  work  it." 

Gently  he  murmured  his  formal  benediction, — then, 
turning  away,  he  entered  his  own  room  and  shut  the 
door.  Babette,  grown  strangely  serious,  turned  to  her 
brother  and  held  out  her  hand,  moved  by  one  of  those  er- 
ratic impulses  which  often  take  sudden  possession  of 
self-willed  children. 

"  Come  into  the  Cathedral !  "  she  whispered  impera- 
tively— "  Come  and  say  an  Ave." 

Not  a  word  did  the  usually  glib  Henri  vouchsafe  in 
answer, — but  clutching  his  sister's  fingers  in  his  own 
dirty,  horny  palm,  he  trotted  meekly  beside  her  out  of  the 
house  and  across  the  Square  into  the  silence  and  dark- 
ness of  Notre  Dame.  Their  mother  watched  their  little 
plump  figures  disappear  with  a  feeling  of  mingled  amaze- 
ment and  gratitude, — miracles  were  surely  beginning,  she 
thought,  if  a  few  words  from  the  Cardinal  could  im- 
press Babette  and  Henri  with  an  idea  of  the  necessity  of 
prayer ! 

They  were  not  long  gone,  however ; — they  came  walk- 
ing back  together,  still  demurely  hand  in  hand,  and  set- 
tled themselves  quietly  in  a  corner  to  study  their  tasks 
for  the  next  day.  Babette's  doll,  once  attired  as  a  fash- 
ionable Parisienne,  and  now  degenerated  into  a  one-eyed 
laundress  with  a  rather  soiled  cap  and  apron,  stuck  out 
its  composite  arms  in  vain  from  the  bench  where  it  sat 
all  askew,  drooping  its  head  forlornly  over  a  dustpan, — 


The  Master-Christian.  21 

and  Henri's  drum,  wherewith  he  was  wont  to  wake  alarm- 
ing echoes  out  of  the  dreamy  and  historical  streets  of 
Rouen,  lay  on  its  side  neglected  and  ingloriously  silent. 
And,  as  before  said,  peace  reigned  in  the  Patoux  house- 
hold,— even  the  entrance  of  Papa  Patoux  himself,  fresh 
from  his  celery  beds,  and  smelling  of  the  earth  earthy, 
created  no  particular  diversion.  He  was  a  very  little, 
very  cheery,  round  man,  was  Papa  Patoux;  he  had  no 
ideas  at  all  in  his  bullet  head  save  that  he  judged  every- 
thing to  be  very  well  managed  in  the  Universe,  and  that 
he,  considered  simply  as  Patoux,  was  lucky  in  his  life 
and  labours, — also  that  it  was  an  easy  thing  to  grow 
celery,  provided  God's  blessing  was  on  the  soil.  For  the 
rest,  he  took  small  care ;  he  knew  that  the  world  wagged 
in  different  ways  in  different  climates, — he  read  his  half- 
penny journal  daily,  and  professed  to  be  interested  in  the 
political  situation  just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  but  in 
reality  he  thought  the  French  Senate  a  pack  of  fools,  and 
wondered  what  they  meant  by  always  talking  so  much 
about  nothing.  He  believed  in  "  La  Patrie  "  to  a  cer- 
tain extent, — but  he  would  have  very  much  objected  if 
"  La  Patrie  "  had  interfered  with  his  celery.  Roughly 
speaking,  he  understood  that  France  was  a  nation,  and 
that  he  was  a  Frenchman ;  and  that  if  any  enemies  should 
presume  to  come  into  the  country,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  take  up  a  musket  and  fight  them  out  again,  and  de- 
fend wife,  children,  and  celery-beds  till  the  last  breath 
was  out  of  his  body.  Further  than  this  simple  and  prim- 
itive idea  of  patriotism  he  did  not  go.  He  never  bothered 
himself  about  dissentient  shades  of  opinion,  or  quarrels 
among  opposing  parties.  When  he  had  to  send  his  chil- 
dren to  the  Government  school,  the  first  thing  he  asked 
was  whether  they  would  be  taught  their  religion  there. 
He  was  told  no, — that  the  Government  objected  to  reli- 
gious teaching,  as  it  merely  created  discussion  and  was 
of  no  assistance  whatever  in  the  material  business  of  life. 
Patoux  scratched  his  head  over  this  for  a  considerable 
time  and  ruminated  deeply, — finally  he  smiled,  a  dull  fat 
smile. 

"  Good !  "  said  he — "  I  understand  now  why  the  Gov- 
ernment makes  such  an  ass  of  itself  now  and  then !  You 
cannot  expect  mere  men  to  do  their  duty  wisely  without 
God  on  their  side.  But  Pere  Laurent  will  teach  my 


22  The  Master-Christian. 

children  their  prayers  and  catechism, — and  I  dare  say 
Heaven  will  arrange  the  rest." 

And  he  forthwith  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind. 
His  children  attended  the  Government  school  daily, — and 
every  Wednesday,  Saturday,  and  Sunday  afternoons  Pere 
Laurent,  a  kindly,  simple-hearted  old  priest,  took  them, 
with  several  other  little  creatures  "  educated  by  the  State", 
and  taught  them  all  he  knew  about  the  great  France- 
exiled  Creator  of  the  Universe,  and  of  His  ceaseless  love 
to  sinful  and  blasphemous  mankind. 

So  things  went  on; — and  though  Henri  and  Babette 
were  being  crammed  by  the  national  system  of  instruction, 
with  learning  which  was  destined  to  be  of  very  slight 
use  to  them  in  their  after  careers,  and  which  made  them 
little  cynics  _before  their  time,  they  were  still  sustained 
within  bounds  by  the  saving  sense  of  something  better 
than  themselves, — that  Something  Better  which  silently 
declares  itself  in  the  beauty  of  the  skies,  the  blossoming 
of  the  flowers,  and  the  loveliness  of  all  things  wherein 
man  has  no  part, — and  neither  of  them  was  yet  trans- 
formed into  that  most  fearsome  product  of  modern  days, 
the  child-Atheist,  for  whom  there  is  no  greater  God  than 
Self. 

On  this  particular  night  when  Papa  Patoux  returned 
to  the  bosom  of  his  family,  he,  though  a  dull-witted  man 
generally,  did  not  fail  to  note  the  dove-like  spirit  of  calm 
that  reigned  over  his  entire  household.  His  wife's  fat 
face  was  agreeably  placid, — the  children  were  in  an  or- 
derly mood,  and  as  he  sat  down  to  the  neatly  spread  sup- 
per-table, he  felt  more  convinced  than  ever  that  things 
were  exceedingly  well  managed  for  him  in  this  best  of 
all  possible  worlds.  Pausing  in  the  act  of  conveying  a 
large  spoonful  of  steaming  soup  to  his  mputh  he  en- 
quired— 

"  And  Monseigneur,  the  Cardinal  Bonpre, — has  he  also 
been  served  ?  " 

Madame  Patoux  opened  her  round  eyes  wide  at  him. 

"  But  certainly !  Dost  thou  think,  my  little  cabbage, 
thou  wouldst  get  thy  food  before  Monseigneur?  That 
would  be  strange  indeed !  " 

Papa  Patoux  swallowed  his  ladleful  of  soup  in  abashed 
silence. 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  day  in  the  fields,"  he  presently 


The  Master-Christian.  23 

observed — "  There  was  a  good  smell  in  the  earth,  as  if 
violets  were  growing, — and  late  in  the  autumn  though  it 
is,  there  was  a  skylark  yet  singing.  It  was  a  very  blue 
heaven,  too,  as  blue  as  the  robe  of  the  Virgin,  with  clouds 
as  white  as  little  angels  clinging  to  it." 

Madame  nodded.  Some  people  might  have  thought 
Papa  Patoux  inclined  to  be  poetical, — she  did  not.  Henri 
and  Babette  listened. 

"  The  robe  of  Our  Lady  is  always  blue,"  said  Babette. 

"  And  the  angels'  clothes  are  always  white,"  added 
Henri. 

Madame  Patoux  said  nothing,  but  passed  a  second 
helping  of  soup  all  round.  Papa  Patoux  smiled  blandly 
on  his  offspring. 

"  Just  so,"  *he  averred — "  Blue  and  white  are  the  col- 
ours of  the  sky,  my  little  ones, — and  Our  Lady  and  the 
angels  live  in  the  sky !  " 

"  I  wonder  where  ?  "  muttered  Henri  with  his  mouth 
half  full.  "  The  sky  is  nothing  but  miles  and  miles  of 
air,  and  in  the  air  there  are  millions  and  millions  of  planets 
turning  round  and  round,  larger  than  our  world, — ever  so 
much  larger, — and  nobody  knows  which  is  the  largest  of 
them  all !  " 

"  It  is  as  thou  sayest,  my  son,"  said  Patoux  confi- 
dently— "  Nobody  knows  which  is  the  largest  of  them 
all,  but  whichever  it  may  be,  that  largest  of  them  all  be- 
longs to  Our  Lady  and  the  angels." 

Henri  looked  at  Babette,  but  Babette  was  munching 
watercress  busily,  and  did  not  return  his  enquiring 
glances.  Papa  Patoux,  quite  satisfied  with  his  own  rea- 
soning, continued  his  supper  in  an  amiable  state  of  mind. 

"  \Yhat  didst  thou  serve  to  Monseigneur,  my  little 
one  ?  "  he  asked  his  wife  with  a  coaxing  and  caressing 
air,  as  though  she  were  some  delicate  and  dainty  sylph  of 
the  woodlands,  instead  of  being  the  lady  of  massive  pro- 
portions which  she  undoubtedly  was, — "  Something  of 
delicacy  and  fine  flavour,  doubtless  ?  " 

Madame  Patoux  shook  her  head  despondingly. 

"  He  would  have  nothing  of  that  kind,"  she  replied — 
"  Soup  maigre,  and  afterwards  nothing  but  bread,  dried 
figs,  and  apples  to  finish.  Ah,  Heaven !  What  a  supper 
for  a  Cardinal- Archbishop !  It  is  enough  to  make  one 
weep ! " 


24  The  Master-Christian. 

Patoux  considered  the  matter  solemnly. 

"  He  is  perhaps  very  poor  ?  "  he  half  queried. 

"  Poor,  he  may  be,"  responded  Madame, — "  But  if  he 
is,  it  is  surely  his  own  fault, — whoever  heard  of  a  poor 
Cardinal- Archbishop !  Such  men  can  all  be  rich  if  they 
choose." 

"  Can  they  ?  "  asked  Henri  with  sudden  vivacious  eager- 
ness. "  How?  " 

But  his  question  was  not  answered,  for  just  at  that 
moment  a  loud  knock  came  at  the  door  of  the  inn,  and  a 
tall  broadly  built  personage  in  close  canonical  attire  ap- 
peared in  the  narrow  little  passage  of  entry,  attended  by 
another  smaller  and  very  much  more  insignificant-look- 
ing individual. 

Patoux  hastily  scrambled  out  of  his  chair. 

"  The  Archbishop !  "  he  whispered  to  his  wife — "  He 
himself !  Our  own  Archbishop  !  " 

Madame  Patoux  jumped  up,  and  seizing  her  children, 
held  one  in  each  hand  as  she  curtsied  up  and  down. 

"  Benedicite!  "  said  the  new-comer,  lightly  signing  the 
cross  in  air  with  a  sociable  smile — "  Do  not  disturb  your- 
selves, my  children!  You  have  with  you  in  this  house 
the  eminent  Cardinal  Bonpre  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  Monseigneur !  "  replied  Madame  Patoux — 
"  Only  just  now  he  has  finished  his  little  supper.  Shall  ] 
show  Monseigneur  to  his  room?" 

"  If  you  please,"  returned  the  Archbishop,  still  smil- 
ing benevolently — "  And  permit  my  secretary  to  wait  with 
you  here  till  I  return." 

With  this,  and  an  introductory  wave  of  his  hand  in  tl 
direction  of  the  attenuated  and  sallow-faced  personage 
who  had  accompanied  him,  he  graciously  permitted 
Madame  Patoux  to  humbly  precede  him  by  a  few  steps 
and  then  followed  her  with  a  soft,  even  tread,  and  a  sound 
as  of  rustling  silk  in  his  garments,  from  which  a  faint 
odour  of  some  delicate  perfume  seemed  wafted  as  1 

moved. 

Left    to    entertain    the    Archbishop's    secretary,    Jean 
Patoux  was  for  a  minute  or  two  somewhat  embarrassed. 
Henri  and   Babette  stared  at  the  stranger  with  undis 
guised  curiosity,  and  were  apparently  not  favourably  im- 
pressed by  his  appearance. 

"  He  has  white  eyelashes !  "  whispered  Henri. 


The  Master-Christian.  25 

"  And  yellow  teeth,"  responded  Babette. 

Meanwhile  Patoux,  having  scratched  his  bullet- 
head  sufficiently  over  the  matter,  offered  his  visitor  a 
chair. 

"  Sit  down,  sir,"  he  said  curtly. 

The  secretary  smiled  pallidly  and  took  the  proffered 
accommodation.  Patoux  again  meditated.  He  was  not 
skilled  in  the  art  of  polite  conversation,  and  he  found 
himself  singularly  at  a  loss. 

"  It  would  be  an  objection  no  doubt,  and  an  irreverance 
perhaps  to  smoke  a  pipe  before  you,  Monsieur — Mon- 
sieur  " 

"  Cazeau,"  finished  the  secretary  with  another  pallid 
smile — "  Claude  Cazeau,  a  poor  scribe, — at  your  service ! 
And  I  beg  of  you,  Monsieur  Jean  Patoux,  to  smoke  at 
your  distinguished  convenience !  " 

There  was  a  faint  tone  of  satire  in  his  voice  which 
struck  Papa  Patoux  as  exceedingly  disagreeable,  though 
he  could  not  quite  imagine  why  he  found  it  so.  He 
slowly  reached  for  his  pipe  from  the  projecting  shelf 
above  the  chimney,  and  as  slowly  proceeded  to  fill  it  with 
tobacco  from  a  tin  cannister  close  by. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  seen  you  in  the  town,  Mon- 
sieur Cazeau,"  he  said — "  Nor  at  Mass  in  the  Cathedral 
either?" 

"No?"  responded  Cazeau  easily,  in  a  half-querying 
tone — "  I  do  not  much  frequent  the  streets ;  and  I  only  atj 
tend  the  first  early  mass  on  Sundays.  My  work  for  Mon- 
seigneur  occupies  my  whole  time." 

"  Ah !  "  and  Patoux,  having  stuffed  his  pipe  sufficiently, 
lit  it,  and  proceeded  to  smoke  peaceably — "  There  must 
be  much  to  do.  Many  poor  and  sick  who  need  money, 
and  clothes,  and  help  in  every  way, — and  to  try  and  do 
good,  and  give  comfort  to  all  the  unhappy  souls  in  Rouen 
is  a  hard  task,  even  for  an  Archbishop." 

Cazeau  linked  his  thin  hands  together  with  an  action  of 
pious  fervour  and  assented. 

"  There  is  a  broken-hearted  creature  near  us,"  pursued 
Patoux  leisurely — "  We  call  her  Marguerite  La  Folle ; — 
I  have  often  thought  I  would  ask  Pere  Laurent  to  speak 
to  Monseigneur  for  her,  that  she  might  be  released  from 
the  devils  that  are  tearing  her.  She  was  a  good  girl  till 
a  year  or  two  ago, — then  some  villain  got  the  ruin  of  her, 


26  The  Master-Christian. 

and  she  lost  her  wits  over  it.     Ah,  'tis  a  sad  sight  to  see 
her  now — poor  Marguerite  Valmond !  " 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Henri  suddenly,  pointing  a  grimy  ringer 
at  Cazeau—"  Why  did  you  jump?  Did  something  hurt 
you  ?  " 

Cazeau  had  indeed  "  jumped,"  as  Henri  put  it, — that  is, 
he  had  sprung  up  from  his  chair  suddenly  and  as  suddenly 
sat  down  again  with  an  air  of  impatience  and  discomfort. 
He  rapidly  overcame  whatever  emotion  moved  him,  how- 
ever, and  stretched  his  thin  mouth  in  a  would-be  amiable 
grin  at  the  observant  Henri. 

"  You  are  a  sharp  boy !  "  he  observed  condescendingly 
— "  and  tall  for  your  age,  no  doubt.     How  old  are  you?  " 
"  Eleven,"  replied  Henri—"  But  that  has  nothing  to 
do  with  your  jumping." 

"  True,"  and  the  secretary  wriggled  in  his  chair,  pre- 
tending to  be  much  amused—"  But  my  jumping  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  you  either,  my  small  friend!  I  had  a 
thought, — a  sudden  thought, — of  a  duty  forgotten." 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  thought,  was  it  ?  "  and  Henri  looked  in- 
credulous. "  Do  thoughts  always  make  you  jump?  " 

"  Tais-toi !     Tais-toi !  "  murmured  Patoux  gently,  be- 
tween two  whiffs  of  his  pipe — "  Excuse  him,  Monsieur 
Cazeau, — he  is  but  a  child." 
Cazeau  writhed  amicably. 

"  A  delightful  child,"  he  murmured — "  And  the  little 
g[r\ — his  sister — is  also  charming — Ah,  what  fine  dark 
eyes! — what  hair!  Will  she  not  come  and  speak  to 
me?" 

He  held  out  a  hand  invitingly  towards  Babette,  but  she 
merely  made  a  grimace  at  him  and  retired  backwards. 
Patoux  smiled  benevolently. 

"  She  does  not  like  strangers,"  he  explained. 
"Good— very     good!     That     is     right!     Little    girls 
should  always  run  away  from  strangers,  especially  stran- 
gers of  my  sex,"  observed  Cazeau  with  a  sniggering  laugh 
— "  And  do  these  dear  children  go  to  school  ?  " 

Patoux  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  altogether,  and 
stared  solemnly  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Without  doubt ! — they  are  compelled  to  go  to  school," 
he  answered  slowly ;  "  but  if  I  could  have  had  my  way, 
they  should  never  have  gone.  They  learn  mischief  there  in 
plenty,  but  no  good  thac  I  can  see.  They  know 'much 


The  Master-Christian.  27 

about  geography,/ and  the  stars,  and  anatomy,  and  what 
they  call  physical  sciences ; — but  whether  they  have  got  it 
into  their  heads  that  the  good  God  wants  them  to  live 
straight,  clean,  honest,  wholesome  lives,  is  more  than  I 
am  certain  of.  However,  I  trust  Pere  Laurent  will  do 
what  he  can.'-' 

"  Pere  Laurent?"  echoed  Cazeau,  with  a  wide  smile 
— "  You  have  a  high  opinion  of  Pere  Laurent?  Ah,  yes, 
a  good  man ! — but  ignorant — alas !  very  ignorant !  " 

Papa  Patoux  brought  his  eyes  down  from  the  ceiling 
and  fixed  them  enquiringly  on  Cazeau. 

"  Ignorant?  "  he  began,  when  at  this  juncture  Madame 
Patoux  entered,  and  taking  possession  of  Henri  and  Bab- 
ette.  informed  Monsieur  Cazeau  that  the  Archbishop 
would  be  for  some  time  engaged  in  conversation  with 
Cardinal  Bonpre,  and  that  therefore  he,  Monsieur  Ca- 
zeau, need  not  wait, — Monseigneur  would  return  to  his 
house  alone.  Whereupon  the  secretary  rose,  evidently 
glad  to  be  set  at  liberty,  and  took  his  leave  of  the  Patoux 
family.  On  the  threshold,  however,  he  paused,  looking 
back  somewhat  frowningly  at  Jean  Patoux  himself. 

"  I  should  not,  if  I  were  you,  trouble  Monseigneur  con- 
cerning the  case  you  told  me  of — that  of — of  Marguerite 
Valmond," — he  observed — "  He  has  a  horror  of  evil  wo- 
men." 

With  that  he  departed,  walking  across  the  Square  to- 
wards the  Archbishop's  house  in  a  stealthy  sort  of  fash- 
ion, as  though  he  were  a  burglar  meditating  some  par- 
ticularly daring  robbery. 

"  He  is  a  rat — a  rat !  "  exclaimed  Henri,  suddenly  exe- 
cuting a  sort  of  reasonless  war-dance  round  the  kitchen 
— "  One  wants  a  cat  to  catch  him !  " 

"  Rats  are  nice,"  declared  Babette,  for  she  remembered 
having  once  had  a  tame  white  rat  which  sat  on  her  knee 
and  took  food  from  her  hand, — "  Monsieur  Cazeau  is  a 
man :  and  men  are  not  nice." 

Patoux  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"Men  are  not  nice!"  he  echoed — "What  dost  thou 
know  about  it,  thou  little  droll  one  ?  " 

"  What  I  see,"  responded  Babette  severely,  with  an 
elderly  air,  as  of  a  person  who  has  suffered  by  bitter  ex- 
perience; and,  undeterred  by  her  parents'  continued 
laughter  she  went  on — 


2b  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Men  are  ugly.  They  are  dirty.  They  say  '  Come 
here  my  little  girl,  and  I  will  give  you  something/ — 
then  when  I  go  to  them  they  try  and  kiss  me.  And  I  will 
not  kiss  them,  because  their  mouths  smell  bad.  They 
stroke  my  hair  and  pull  it  all  the  wrong  way.  And  it 
hurts.  And  when  I  don't  like  my  hair  pulled  the  wrong 
way,  they  tell  me  I  will  be  a  great  coquette.  A  coquette 
is  to  be  like  Diane  de  Poitiers.  Shall  I  be  like  Diane 
de  Poitiers?  " 

"  The  saints  forbid !  "  cried  Madame  Patoux, — "  And 

talk  no  more  nonsense,  child, — it's  bed-time.     Come, 

say  good-night  to  thy  father,  Henri; — give  them  thy 
blessing,  Jean — and  let  me  get  them  into  their  beds  be- 
fore the  Archbishop  leaves  the  house,  or  they  will  be  ask- 
ing him  as  many  questions  as  there  are  in  the  catechism." 

Thus  enjoined,  Papa  Patoux  kissed  his  children  affec- 
tionately, signing  the  cross  on  their  brows  as  they  came 
up  to  him  in  turn,  after  the  fashion  of  his  own  father,  who 
had  continued  this  custom  up  to  his  dying  day.  What 
they  thought  of  the  benediction  in  itself  might  be  some- 
what difficult  to  define,  but  it  can  be  safely  asserted  that 
a  passion  of  tears  on  the  part  of  Babette,  and  a  fit  of  de- 
moniacal howling  from  Henri,  would  have  been  the  in- 
evitable result  if  Papa  Patoux  had  refused  to  bestow  it 
on  them.  Whether  there  were  virtue  in  it  or  not,  their 
father's  mute  blessing  sent  them  to  -bed  peaceably  and  in 
good  humour  with  each  other,  and  they  trotted  'off  very 
contentedly  beside  their  mother,  hushing  their  footsteps 
and  lowering  their  voices  as  they  passed  the  door  of  the 
room  occupied  by  Cardinal  Bonpre. 

'''  The  Archbishop  is  not  an  angel,  is  he?  "  asked  Bab- 
ette whisperingly. 

Her  mother  smiled  broadly. 

"  Not  exactly,  my  little  one.  Why  such  a  foolish  ques- 
tion ?  " 

'''  You  said  that  Cardinal  Bonpre  was  a  saint,  and  that 
perhaps  we  should  see  an  angel  come  down  from  heaven 
to  visit  him,"  replied  Babette. 

"Well,  you  could  not  have  thought  the  Archbishop 
came  from  heaven,"  interpolated  Henri,  scornfully, — 
"  He  came  from  his  own  house  over  the  way  with  his 
own  secretary  behind  him.  Do  angels  keep  secretaries  ?  " 

Babette  laughed  aloud, — the  idea  was  grotesque.     The 


The  Master-Christian.  29 

two  children  were  just  then  ascending  the  wooden  stairs 
to  their  bedroom,  the  mother  carrying  a  lighted  candle 
behind  them,  and  at  that  moment  the  rich  sonorous  voice 
of  the  Archbishop,  raised  to  a  high  and  somewhat  in- 
dignant tone,  reached  them  with  these  words — "  I  con- 
sider that  vou  altogether  mistake  your  calling  and  posi- 
tion." 

Then  the  voice  died  away  into  inaudible  murmurings. 

"  They  are  quarrelling !  The  Archbishop  is  angry !  " 
said  Henri  with  a  grin. 

"  Perhaps  Archbishops  do  not  like  saints,"  suggested 
Babette. 

"  Tais-toi !  Cardinal  Bonpre  is  an  archbishop  himself, 
little  silly,"  said  Madame  Patoux — "  Therefore  those 
great  and  distinguished  Monseigneurs  are  like  brothers." 
'That  is  why  they  are  quarrelling!"  declared  Henri 
glibly, — "A  boy  told  me  in  school  that  Cain  and  Abel  were 
the  first  pair  of  brothers,  and  they  quarrelled, — and  all 
brothers  have  quarrelled  ever  since.  It's  in  the  blood, 
so  that  boy  says, — and  it  is  his  excuse  always  for  fight- 
ing his  little  brother.  His  little  brother  is  six,  and  he  is 
twelve ; — and  of  course  he  always  knocks  his  little  brother 
down.  He  cannot  help  it,  he  says.  And  he  gets  books 
on  physiology  and  heredity,  and  he  learns  in  them  that 
whatever  is  in  the  blood  has  got  to  come  out  somehow. 
He  says  that  it's  because  Cain  killed  Abel  that  there  are 
wars  between  nations ; — if  Cain  and  Abel  had  never  quar- 
relled, there  would  never  have  been  any  fighting  in  the 
world, — and  now  that  it's  in  the  blood  of  every 
body " 

But  further  sapient  discourse  on  the  part  of  Henri  was 
summarily  put  an  end  to  by  his  mother's  ordering  him  to 
kneel  down  and  say  his  prayers,  and  afterwards  bun- 
dling him  into  bed, — where,  being  sleepy,  he  speedily  for- 
got all  that  he  had  been  trying  to  talk  about.  Babette 
took  more  time  in  retiring  to  rest.  She  had  very  pretty, 
curly,  brown  hair,  and  Madame  Patoux  took  a  pride  in 
brushing  and  plaiting  it  neatly. 

"  I  may  be  like  Diane  de  Poitiers  after  all,"  she  re- 
marked, peering  at  herself  in  the  small  mirror  when  her 
thick  locks  were  smoothed  and  tied  back  for  the  night — 
"Why  should  I  not  be?" 

"  Because  Diane  de  Poitiers  was  a  wicked  woman,"  said 


30  The  Master-Christian. 

Madame  Patoux  energetically, — "  and  thou  must  learn  to 
be  a  good  girl." 

"  But  if  Diane  de  Poitiers  was  bad,  why  do  they  talk  so 
much  about  her  even  now,  and  put  her  in  all  the  his- 
tories, and  show  her  house,  and  say  she  was  beautiful  ?  " 
went  on  Babette. 

"  Because  people  are  foolish,"  said  Madame,  getting  im- 
patient— "  Foolish  people  run  after  bad  women,  and  bad 
women  run  after  foolish  people.  Now  say  thy  prayers." 

Obediently  Babette  knelt  down,  shut  her  eyes  close, 
clasped  her  hands  hard,  and  murmured  the  usual  evening 
formula,  heaving  a  small  sigh  after  her  "  act  of  con- 
trition," and  looking  almost  saintly  as  she  commended 
herself  to  her  "  angel  guardian."  Then  her  mother 
kissed  her,  saying — 

"  Good-night,  little  daughter !  Think  of  Our  Lady  and 
the  saints,  and  then  ask  them  to  keep  us  safe  from  evil. 
Good-night !  " 

"  Good-night,"  responded  Babette  sleepily, — but  all  the 
same  she  did  not  think  of  Our  Lady  and  the  saints  half  as 
much  as  of  Diane  de  Poitiers.  There  are  few  daughters 
of  Eve  to  whom  conquest  does  not  seem  a  finer  thing  than 
humility;  and  the  sovereignty  of  Diane  de  Poitiers  over 
a  king,  seems  to  many  a  girl  just  conscious  of  her  own 
charm,  a  more  emphatic  testimony  to  the  supremacy  of 
her  sex,  than  the  Angel's  greeting  of  "  Blessed  art  thou !  " 
to  the  elected  Virgin  of  the  world. 


III. 

MEANWHILE  a  somewhat  embarrassing  interview  had 
taken  place  between  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen  and  Car- 
dinal Bonpre.  The  archbishop,  seen  by  the  light  of  the 
one  small  lamp  which  illumined  the  "  best  room  "  of  the 
Hotel  Poitiers  was  certainly  a  handsome  and  imposing 
personage,  broad-chested  and  muscular,  with  a  massive 
head,  well  set  on  strong  square  shoulders,  admirably 
adapted  for  the  wearing  of  the  dark  violet  soutane  which 
fitted  them  as  gracefully  as  a  royal  vesture  draping  the 
figure  of  a  king.  One  disproportionate  point,  however, 
about  his  attire  was,  that  the  heavy  gold  crucifix  which 
depended  by  a  chain  from  his  neck,  did  not,  with  him, 
look  so  much  a  sacred  symbol  as  a  trivial  ornament, — 
whereas  the  simple  silver  one  that  gleamed  against  the 
rusty  black  scarlet-edged  cassock  of  Cardinal  Bonpre, 
presented  itself  as  the  plain  and  significant  sign  of  holi- 
ness without  the  aid  of  jewellers'  workmanship  to  em- 
phasize its  meaning.  This  was  a  trifle,  no  doubt; — still 
it  was  one  of  those  slight  things  which  often  betray  char- 
acter. As  the  most  brilliant  diamond  will  look  like  com- 
mon glass  on  the  rough  red  hand  of  a  cook,  while  com- 
mon glass  will  simulate  the  richness  of  the  real  gem  on  the 
delicate  white  finger  of  a  daintily-bred  woman,  so  the 
emblem  of  salvation  seemed  a  mere  bauble  and  toy  on  the 
breast  of  the  Archbishop,  while  it  assumed  its  most  rev- 
erent and  sacred  aspect  as  worn  by  Felix  Bonpre.  Yet 
judged  by  mere  outward  appearance,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  as  to  which  was  the  finer-looking  man  of  the  two. 
The  Cardinal,  thin  and  pale,  with  shadows  of  thought  and 
pain  in  his  eyes,  and  the  many  delicate  wrinkles  of  ad- 
vancing age  marking  his  features,  would  never  possess  so 
much  attractiveness  for  worldly  and  superficial  persons 
as  the  handsome  Archbishop,  who  carried  his  fifty-five 
years  as  though  they  were  but  thirty,  and  whose  fresh, 
plump  face,  unmarred  by  any  serious  consideration,  be- 
spoke a  thorough  enjoyment  of  life,  and  the  things  which 


32  The  Master-Christian. 

life, — if  encouraged  to  demand  them, — most  strenuously 
seeks,  such  as  good  food,  soft  beds,  rich  clothing,  and 
other  countless  luxuries  which  are  not  necessities  by  any 
means,  but  which  make  the  hours  move  smoothly  and 
softly,  undisturbed  by  the  clash  of  outside  events  among 
those  who  are  busy  with  thoughts  and  actions,  and  who, 
— being  absorbed  in  the  thick  of  a  soul-contest, — care  little 
whether  their  bodies  fare  ill  or  well.  The  Archbishop 
certainly  did  not  belong  to  this  latter  class, — indeed  he 
considered  too  much  thought  as  mischievous  in  itself,  and 
when  thought  appeared  likely  to  break  forth  into  action, 
he  denounced  it  as  pernicious  and  well-nigh  criminal. 

"  Thinkers,"  he  said  once  to  a  young  and  ardent  nov- 
ice, studying  for  the  priesthood,  "  are  generally  social- 
ists and  revolutionists.  They  are  an  offence  to  the 
Church  and  a  danger  to  the  community." 

"  Surely,"  murmured  the  novice  timidly, — "  Our  Lord 
Himself  was  a  thinker?  And  a  Socialist  likewise?  " 

But  at  this  the  Archbishop  rose  up  in  wrath  and  flashed 
forth  menace ; — 

"  If  you  are  a  follower  of  Renan,  sir,  you  had  better  ad- 
mit it  before  proceeding  further  in  your  studies,"  he  said 
irately, — "  The  Church  is  too  much  troubled  in  these  days 
by  the  members  of  a  useless  and  degenerate  apostasy!  " 

Whereupon  the  young  man  had  left  his  presence 
abashed,  puzzled,  and  humiliated;  but  scarcely  penitent, 
inasmuch  as  his  New  Testament  taught  him  that  he  was 
right  and  that  the  Archbishop  was  wrong. 

Truth  to  tell,  the  Archbishop  was  very  often  wrong. 
Wrapped  up  in  himself  and  his  own  fixed  notions  as  to 
how  life  should  be  lived,  he  seldom  looked  out  upon  the 
larger  world,  and  obstinately  refused  to  take  any  thought- 
ful notice  of  the  general  tendency  of  public  opinion  in  all 
countries  concerning  religion  and  morality.  All  that  he 
was  unable  to  explain,  he  flatly  denied,— and  his  preju- 
dices were  as  violent  as  his  hatred  of  contradiction  was 
keen.  The  saintly  life  and  noble  deeds  of  Felix  Bonpre 
had  reached  him  from  time  to  time  through  various  ru- 
mours repeated  by  different  priests  and  dignitaries  of  the 
Church,  who  had  travelled  as  far  as  the  distant  little 
Cathedral-town  embowered  among  towering  pines  and 
elm  trees,  where  the  Cardinal  had  his  abiding  seat  of 
duty; — and  he  had  been  anxious  to  meet  the  man  who 


The  Master-Christian.  33 

in  these  days  of  fastidious  feeding  and  luxurious  living, 
had  managed  to  gain  such  a  holy  reputation  as  to  be  al- 
most canonized  in  some  folks'  estimation  before  he  was 
dead.  Hearing  that  Bonpre  intended  to  stay  a  coupk  of 
nights  in  Rouen,  he  cordially  invited  him  to  spend  that 
time  at  his  house, — but  the  invitation  had  been  gratefully 
yet  firmly  refused,  much  to  the  Archbishop's  amazement. 
This  amazement  increased  considerably  when  he  learned 
that  the  dingy,  comfortless,  little  Hotel  Poitiers  had  been 
selected  by  the  Cardinal  as  his  temporary  lodging, — and 
it  was  not  without  a  pious  murmur  concerning  "  the  pride 
which  apes  humility  "  that  he  betook  himself  to  that  an- 
cient and  despised  hostelry,  which  had  nothing  whatever 
in  the  way  of  a  modern  advantage  to  recommend  it, — 
neither  electric  light,  nor  electric  bell,  nor  telephone.  But 
he  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  pay  a  fraternal  visit  to 
the  Cardinal,  who  had  become  in  a  manner  famous  with- 
out being  at  all  aware  of  his  fame, — and  when  finally  in 
his  presence,  he  was  conscious  not  only  of  a  singular  dis- 
appointment, but  an  equally  singular  perplexity.  Felix 
Bonpre  was  not  at  all  the  sort  of  personage  he  had  ex- 
pected to  see.  He  had  imagined  that  a  Churchman  who 
was  able  to  obtain  a  character  for  saintliness  in  days  like 
these,  must  needs  be  worldly-wise  and  crafty,  with  a  keen 
perception  and  comprehension  of  the  follies  of  mankind, 
and  an  ability  to  use  these  follies  advantageously  to  fur- 
ther his  own  ends.  Something  of  the  cunning  and  fore- 
sight of  an  ancient  Egyptian  sorcerer  was  in  the  compo- 
sition of  the  Archbishop  himself,  for  he  judged  mankind 
alone  by  its  general  stupidity  and  credulity; — stupidity 
and  credulity  which  formed  excellent  ground  for  the 
working  of  miracles,  whether  such  miracles  were  wrought 
in  the  name  of  Osiris  or  Christ.  Mokanna,  the  "  Veiled 
Prophet,"  while  corrupt  to  the  core  with  unnameable 
vices,  had  managed  in  his  time  to  delude  the  people  into 
thinking  him  a  holy  man ;  and, — without  any  adequate 
reason  for  his  assumption, — the  Archbishop  had  certainly 
prepared  himself  to  meet  in  Felix  Bonpre,  a  shrewd,  cal- 
culating, clever  priest,  absorbed  in  acting  the  part  of  an 
excessive  holiness  in  order  to  secure  such  honour  in  his 
diocese  as  should  attract  the  particular  notice  of  the 
Vatican.  "  Playing  for  Pope,"  in  fact,  had  been  the  idea 
with  which  the  archbishop  had  invested  the  Cardinal's 


34  The  Master-Christian. 

reputed  sanctity,  and  he  was  astonished  and  in  a  manner 
irritated  to  find  himself  completely  mistaken.  He  had 
opened  the  conversation  by  the  usual  cordial  trivialities 
of  ordinary  greeting,  to  which  Bonpre  had  responded 
with  the  suave  courtesy  and  refined  gentleness  which  al- 
ways dignified  his  manner, — and  then  the  Archbishop  had 
ventured  to  offer  a  remonstrance  on  the  unconventional — 
"Shall  we  call  it  eccentric?"  he  suggested,  smiling 
amicably, — conduct  of  the  Cardinal  in  choosing  to  abide 
in  such  a  comfortless  lodging  as  the  Hotel  Poitiers. 

"  It  would  have  been  a  pleasure  and  an  honour  to  me 
to  welcome  you  at  my  house  " — he  said — "  Really,  it  is 
quite  a  violation  of  custom  and  usage  that  you  should  be 
in  this  wretched  place;  the  accommodation  is  not  at  all 
fitted  for  a  prince  of  the  Church." 

Cardinal  Felix  raised  one  hand  in  gentle  yet  pained 
protest. 

"  Pardon  me !  "  he  said,  "  I  do  not  like  that  term, 
'  prince  of  the  Church.'  There  are  no  princes  in  the 
Church — or  if  there  are,  there  should  be  none." 

The  archbishop  opened  his  eyes  widely. 

"  That  is  a  strange  remark !  "  he  ejaculated — "  Princes 
of  the  Church  there  have  always  been  since  Cardinals 
were  created ;  and  you,  being  a  Cardinal  and  an  Arch- 
bishop as  well,  cannot  be  otherwise  than  one  of  them." 

Felix  Bonpre  sighed. 

"Still,  I  maintain  that  the  term  is  a  wrong  one,"  he 
answered,  "  and  used  in  the  wrong  place.  The  Church 
has  nothing,  or  should  have  nothing  to  do  with  differing 
titles  or  places.  The  ordinary  priest  who  toils  among  his 
congregation  day  and  night,  scarcely  resting  himself, 
working  and  praying  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  others, 
should  to  my  thinking  be  as  greatly  held  in  honour  as  the 
bishop  who  commands  him  and  who  often — so  it  chances 
— is  able  to  do  less  for  our  Lord  than  he.  In  things  tem- 
poral, owing  to  the  constant  injustice  of  man  practised 
against  his  brother-man,  we  can  seldom  attain  to  strict 
impartiality  of  judgment, — but  in  things  spiritual,  there 
surely  should  be  perfect  equality." 

"  Seriously  speaking,  are  those  your  views?  "  enquired 
the  Archbishop,  his  features  expressing  more  and  more 
astonishment. 

"  Assuredly !  "  responded  the  Cardinal  gently, — "  Are 


The  Master-Christian.  35 

mey  not  yours  ?  Did  not  the  Master  Himself  say  '  Who- 
soever will  be  chief  among  you,  let  him  be  your  servant '  ? 
And  '  Whosoever  shall  exalt  himself  shall  be  abased '  ? 
These  statements  are  plain  and  true, — there  is  no  mis- 
taking them." 

The  Archbishop  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  so. 

"  Unfortunately  we  cannot  apply  our  Lord's  words 
literally  to  every-day  exigencies,"  he  murmured  suavely 
— "  If  we  could  do  so " 

"  We  should  do  so,"  said  the  Cardinal  with  emphasis — 
'  The  outside  world  may  be  disinclined  to  do  so, — but  we 
— we  who  are  the  representatives  of  a  God-given  faith, 
are  solemnly  bound  to  do  so.  And  I  fear — I  very  much 
fear — that  it  is  because  in  many  cases  we  have  not  shown 
the  example  expected  of  us,  that  heresy  and  atheism  are 
so  common  among  the  people  of  the  present  day."  . 

"Are  you  a  would-be  reformer?"  asked  the  Arch- 
bishop good-humouredly,  yet  not  without  a  touch  of  satire 
in  his  tone, — "  If  so,  you  are  not  alone — there  have  al- 
ready been  many !  " 

"  Nay,  I  desire  no  reforms',"  responded  the  Cardinal,  a 
faint  flush  warming  the  habitual  pallor  of  his  cheeks — "  I 
simply  wish  to  maintain — not  alter — the  doctrine  of  our 
Lord.  No  reform  is  necessary  in  that, — it  is  clear,  con- 
cise, and  simple  enough  for  a  child  to  understand.  His 
command  to  His  disciples  was, — '  Feed  my  sheep ' — and 
I  have  of  late  been  troubled  and  perplexed,  because  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  sheep  are  not  fed ; — that  despite 
churches  and  teachers  and  preachers,  whole  flocks  are 
starving." 

The  Archbishop  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  His 
habitual  violent  spirit  of  contradiction  rose  up  rebelliously 
in  him,  and  he  longed  to  give  a  sharp  answer  in  confuta- 
tion of  the  Cardinal's  words,  but  there  was  a  touch  of 
the  sycophant  in  his  nature  despite  his  personal  pride, 
and  he  could  not  but  reflect  that  Cardinals  ranked  above 
Archbishops,  and  that  Felix  Bonpre  was  in  very  truth  a 
"  prince  of  the  Church "  however  much  he  himself 
elected  to  disclaim  the  title.  And  as  in  secular  affairs 
lesser  men  will  always  bow  the  knee  to  royalty,  so  the 
Archbishop  felt  the  necessity  of  temporising  with  one 
who  was  spiritually  royal.  Therefore  he  considered  a 
moment  before  replying. 


36  The  Master-Christian. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  at  last,  in  soft  persuasive  tones, 
"  that  your  conscience  may  perhaps  be  a  little  tender 
on  this  subject.  But  I  cannot  agree  with  you  in  your 
supposition  that  whole  flocks  are  starving; — for  Christi- 
anity dominates  the  better  and  more  intellectual  part  of 
the  civilized  world,  and  through  its  doctrines,  men  are 
gradually  learning  to  be  more  tolerant  and  less  unjust. 
When  we  recollect  the  barbarous  condition  of  humanity 
before  the  coming  of  Christ " 

"Barbarous?"  interrupted  the  Cardinal  with  half  a 
smile, — "  You  would  hardly  apply  that  term  to  the  lux- 
ury-loving peoples  of  Tyre  and  Babylon? — or  to  the  an- 
cient splendours  of  Athens  and  Rome  ?  " 

"  They  were  heathens,"  said  the  Archbishop  senten- 
tiously. 

"  But  they  were  men  and  women,"  replied  Bonpre, 
"  And  they  too  had  immortal  souls.  They  were  all  more 
or  less  struggling  towards  the  fundamental  Idea  of  good. 
Of  course  then,  as  now  that  Idea  was  overgrown  by 
superstitious  myths  and  observances — but  the  working 
tendency  of  the  whole  universe  being  ever  towards  Good, 
not  Evil,  an  impulse  to  press  on  in  the  right  direction  was 
always  in  the  brain  of  man,  no  matter  how  dimly  felt. 
Primitive  notions  of  honour  were  strange  indeed;  never- 
theless honour  .existed  in  the  minds  of  the  early  barbarians 
in  a  vague  sense,  though  distorted  out  of  shape  and  no- 
blest meaning.  No, — we  dare  not  take  upon  ourselves  to 
assert  that  men  were  altogether  barbarous  before  the  com- 
ing of  Christ.  They  were  cruel  and  unjust  certainly, — 
and  alas !  they  are  cruel  and  unjust  still !  Eighteen  hun- 
dred years  of  Christian  teaching  have  not  eradicated 
these  ingrained  sins  from  any  one  unit  of  the  entire 
mass." 

"  You  are  a  severe  judge !  "  said  the  Archbishop. 

Cardinal  Bonpre  lifted  his  mild  blue  eyes  protestingly. 

"  Severe  ?  I  ?  God  forbid  that  I  should  be  severe,  or 
presume  to  sit  in  judgment  on  any  poor  soul  that  sought 
my  sympathy!  I  do  not  judge, — I  simply  feel.  And  my 
feelings  have  for  a  long  time,  I  confess,  been  poignantly 
sorrowful." 

"  Sorrowful !     And  why  ?  " 

"  Because  the  impression  has  steadily  gained  upon  me 
that  if  our  Church  were  all  it  was  originally  intended  to 


The  Master-Christian.  37 

be  by  its  Divine  Founder,  we  should  at  this  time  have 
neither  heresies  or  apostasies,  and  all  the  world  would  be 
gathered  into  the  '  one  fold  under  one  Shepherd.'  But 
if  we,  who  are  its  ministers,  persist  in  occupying"  our- 
selves more  with  '  things  temporal '  than  '  things  spirit- 
ual,' we  fail  to  perform  our  mission,  or  to  show  the  ex- 
ample required  of  us,  and  we  do  not  attract,  so  much  as 
we  repel.  The  very  children  of  the  present  day  are  be- 
ginning to  doubt  our  calling  and  election." 

"  Oh,  of  course  there  are,  and  always  have  been  heretics 
and  atheists,"  said  the  Archbishop, — "  And  apparently 
there  always  will  be." 

"  And  I  venture  to  maintain  that  it  is  our  fault  that 
heretics  and  atheists  continue  to  exist,"  replied  the  Car- 
dinal ;  "  If  our  Divine  faith  were  lived  divinely,  there 
would  be  no  room  for  heresy  or  atheism.  The  Church 
itself  supplies  the  loophole  for  apostasy." 

The  Archbishop's  handsome  face  crimsoned. 

"  You  amaze  me  by  such  an  expression !  "  he  said,  rais- 
ing his  voice  a  little  in  the  indignation  he  could  scarcely 
conceal — "  you  talk — pardon  me — as  if  you  yourself  were 
uncertain  of  the  Church's  ability  to  withstand  unbelief." 

"  I  speak  but  as  I  think,"  answered  the  Cardinal  gently. 
"  And  I  admit  I  am  uncertain.  In  the  leading  points  of 
Creed  I  am  very  steadfastly  convinced; — namely,  that 
Christ  was  divine,  and  that  the  following  of  His  Gospel 
is  the  saving  of  the  immortal  soul.  But  if  you  ask  me 
whether  I  think  we  do  truly  follow  that  Gospel,  I  must 
own  that  I  have  doubts  upon  the  matter." 

"  An  elected  favourite  son  of  the  Church  should  surely 
have  no  doubts !  "  said  the  Archbishop. 

"  Ah,  there  you  come  back  to  the  beginning  from  which 
we  started,  when  I  ventured  to  object  to  your  term  '  prince 
of  the  Church.'  According  to  our  Master,  all  men 
should  be  equal  before  Him ;  therefore  we  err  in  marking 
differences  of  rank  or  favoritism  in  questions  of  religion. 
The  very  idea  of  rank  is  anti-Christian." 

At  this  the  Archbishop  began  to  look  seriously  annoyed. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  indulging  in  very  unorthodox 
ideas,"  he  said  with  impatience — "  In  fact  I  consider  you 
altogether  mistake  your  calling  and  position." 

These  were  the  words  which  had  reached  the  attentive 
ears  of  the  Patoux  children  on  their  way  up  to  bed,  and 


38  The  Master-Christian. 

had  caused  Henri  to  declare  that  the  Archbishop  and  the 
Cardinal  were  quarrelling.  Felix  Bonpre  took  the  some- 
what violent  remark,  however,  with  perfect  equanimity. 

"  Possibly  I  may  do  so,"  he  responded  peaceably. 
"  We  are  all  subject  to  error.  My  calling,  as  I  take  it,  is 
that  of  a  servant  of  Christ,  whose  instructions  for  work 
are  plainly  set  down  in  His  own  words.  It  is  for  me  to 
follow  these  instructions  as  literally  and  exactly  as  I  can. 
With  regard  to  my  position,  I  am  placed  as  the  spiritual 
head  of  a  very  small  diocese,  where  the  people  for  the 
most  part  lead  very  innocent  and  harmless  lives. 
But  I  should  be  selfish  and  narrow  in  spirit 
if  I  allowed  myself  to  limit  my  views  to  my  own 
circle  of  influence.  My  flock  are  mere  rustics  in 
intellectual  capacity,  and  have  no  conception  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  larger  tide  of  human  events  is 
flowing.  Now  and  then  one  or  two  of  the  people  grow 
weary  of  their  quiet  pastures  and  woodlands, — and  being 
young,  hopeful,  and  ardent,  start  forth  into  the  great 
world,  there  to  seek  fairer  fortunes.  Sometimes  they 
come  back  to  their  old  homes.  Far  more  frequently  they 
never  return.  But  those  who  do  come  back  are  changed 
utterly.  I  recognise  no  more  the  young  men  and  maidens 
whom  I  confirmed  in  their  faith,  and  laid  my  hands  on  in 
blessing  ere  they  fared  forth  to  other  lives  and  scenes. 
The  men  are  grown  callous  and  worldly ;  without  a  heart, 
— without  a  thought, — save  for  the  gain  or  loss  of  gold. 
The  women  are — ruined  !  " 

He  paused  a  moment.     The  Archbishop  said  nothing. 

"  I  love  my  people,"  went  on  the  Cardinal  pathetically 
— "  No  child  is  baptised  in  our  old  Cathedral  without  my 
praying  for  its  future  good, — without  my  hope  that  it  may 
grow  into  that  exquisite  mingling  of  the  Divine  and  Hu- 
man which  our  Lord  taught  us  was  the  perfection  of  life, 
and  His  desire  to  see  fulfilled  in  those  He  called  His 
own.  Yes, — I  love  my  people ! — and  when  any  of  them 
go  away  from  me,  and  then  return  to  the  scenes  of  their 
childhood  broken-hearted,  I  cannot  meet  them  with  re- 
proach. My  own  heart  is  half  broken  to  see  them  thus 
cast  down.  And  their  sorrows  have  compelled  me  natu- 
rally to  meditate  on  the  sorrows  of  others, — to  consider 
what  it  is  in  the  world  which  thus  corrodes  the  pure  gold 
of  innocence  and  robs  life  of  its  greatest  charm.  For  if 


The  Master-Christian.  39 

Christ's  spirit  ruled  us  all,  then  innocence  should  be  held 
more  sacred.  Life  should  engender  happiness.  I  have 
studied,  read,  and  thought  long,  upon  these  matters,  so 
that  I  not  only  feel,  but  know  the  truth  of  what  I  say. 
Brother ! — "  and  the  Cardinal,  strongly  moved,  rose 
suddenly  and  confronted  the  Archbishop  with  a  passion- 
ate gesture — "  My  great  grief  is  that  the  spirit  of  Christ 
does  not  rule  the  world !  Christ  is  being  re-crucified  by 
this  generation !  And  the  Church  is  looking  on,  and 
silently  permitting  His  second  murder !  " 

Startled  by  the  force  of  this  expression,  the  Archbishop 
sprang  up  in  his  turn,  his  lips  parted  as  if  to  speak — 
then — his  angry  glance  met  the  clear,  calm,  steadfast  look 
of  Felix  Bonpre,  and  he  faltered.  His  eyes  drooped — and 
his  massive  figure  seemed  for  a  moment  to  shrink  with  a 
sort  of  abasement.  Like  an  inspired  apostle  the  Cardinal 
stood,  one  hand  outstretched, — his  whole  frame  sentient 
with  the  strong  emotion  which  possessed  him. 

"  You  know  that  what  I  say  is  true,"  he  continued  in 
quieter  but  no  less  intensely  passionate  accents — "  You 
know  that  every  day  sees  our  Master  crowned  with  new 
thorns  and  exposed  to  fresh  torture !  You  know  that  we 
do  nothing! — We  stand  beside  Him  in  His  second  agony 
as  dumb  as  though  we  were  unconscious  of  it!  You 
know  that  we  might  speak  and  will  not!  You  know  that 
we  fear  the  ephemera  of  temporary  governments,  policies, 
and  social  conventionalities,  more  than  the  great,  real,  and 
terrible  judgment  of  the  world  to  come!  " 

"  But  all  these  things  have  been  said  before,"  began  the 
Archbishop,  recovering  a  little  from  the  confusion  that 
had  momentarily  seized  him, — "  And  as  I  just  now  ob- 
served, you  should  remember  that  there  have  always  been 
heretics  from  the  very  beginning." 

"  Oh,  I  remember !  "  and  the  Cardinal  sighed,  "  How  is 
it  possible  that  any  of  us  should  forget !  Heretics,  whom 
we  have  tortured  with  unheard-of  agonies  and  burned  in 
the  flames,  as  a  proof  of  our  love  and  sympathy  with  the 
tenderness  of  Christ  Jesus !  " 

"  You  are  going  too  far  back  in  time !  "  said  the  Arch- 
bishop quickly.  "  We  erred  in  the  beginning  through 
excess  of  zeal,  but  now — now " 

"  Xow  we  do  exactly  the  same  thing,"  returned  Bon- 
pre— "  Only  we  do  not  burn  physically  our  heretics,  but 


40  The  Master-Christian. 

morally.  We  condemn  all  who  oppose  us.  Good  men 
and  brave  thinkers,  whom  in  our  arrogance  we  consign  to 
eternal  damnation,  instead  of  endeavouring  to  draw  out 
the  heart  of  their  mystery,  and  gather  up  the  gems  of  their 
learning  as  fresh  proofs  of  the  active  presence  of  God's 
working  in,  and  through  all  things !  Think  of  the 
Church's  invincible  and  overpowering  obstinacy  in  the 
case  of  Galileo!  He  declared  the  existence  of  God  to  us 
by  the  utterance  of  a  Truth, — inasmuch  as  every  truth  is 
a  new  message  from  God.  Had  he  pronounced  his  theo- 
ries before  our  divine  Master,  that  Master  would  have 
confirmed,  not  denied  them!  Have  we  one  single  ex- 
ample of  Christ  putting  to  the  torture  any  poor  soul  that 
did  not  believe  in  Him?  Nay — He  Himself  submitted 
to  be  tortured;  but  for  those  who  wronged  Him,  His 
prayer  was  only — '  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know 
not  what  they  do.'  They  know  not  ivhat  they  do!  The 
ministers  of  truth  should  rather  suffer  themselves  than 
let  others  suffer.  The  horrors  of  the  Inquisition  are 
a  blot  on  religious  history ;  our  Master  never  meant  us 
to  burn  and  torture  men  into  faith.  He  desired  us  to  love 
and  lead  them  into  the  way  of  life  as  the  shepherd  leads 
a  flock  into  the  fold.  I  repeat  again,  there  would  have 
been  no  room  for  atheism  if  we — we — the  servants  of 
Christ,  had  been  strictly  true  to  our  vocation." 

By  this  time  the  Archbishop  had  recovered  his  equa- 
nimity. He  sat  down  and  surveyed  the  up-standing  fig- 
ure of  the  Cardinal  with  curiosity  and  a  touch  of  pity. 

"  You  think  too  much  of  these  things,"  he  said  sooth- 
ingly— "  You  are  evidently  overwrought  with  study  and 
excessive  zeal.  Much  that  you  say  may  be  true;  never- 
theless the  Church — our  Church — stands  firm  among 
overwhelming  contradictions, — and  we,  its. ministers,  do 
what  we  can.  I  myself  am  disposed  to  think  that  .the 
multitude  of  the  saved  is  greater  than  the  multitude  of 
the  lost." 

"  I  envy  you  the  consolation  such  a  thought  must  give," 
responded  the  Cardinal,  as  he  resumed  his  seat  opposite 
his  visitor — "  I,  on  the  contrary,  have  the  pained  and  bit- 
ter sense  that  we  are  to  blame  for  all  this  '  multitude  of 
the  lost,'  or  at  any  rate  that  we  could  have  done  more  in 
the  way  of  rescue  than  we  have  done."  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment, passing  one  hand  across  his  forehead  wearily.  "  In 


The  Master-Christian.  41 

truth  this  is  what  has  for  a  long  time  weighed  upon  my 
mind,  and  depressed  my  spirits  even  to  the  detriment  of 
bodily  health.  I  am  nearing  the  grave,  and  must  soon 
give  an  account  of  my  stewardship ; — and  the  knowledge 
of  the  increasing  growth  of  evil  in  the  world  is  almost 
more  than  I  can  bear." 

"  But  you  are  not  to  blame,"  said  the  Archbishop  won- 
deringly, — "  In  your  own  diocese  you  have  fulfilled  your 
duty;  more  than  this  is  not  expected  of  you.  You  have 
done  your  best  for  the  people  you  serve, — and  reports  of 
your  charities  and  good  works  are  not  lacking — 

"  Do  not  credit  such  reports,"  interrupted  the  Cardinal, 
almost  sternly, — "  I  have  done  nothing — absolutely  noth- 
ing! My  life  has  been  too  peaceful, — too  many  unde- 
served blessings  have  been  bestowed  upon  me.  I  much 
fear  that  the  calm  and  quiet  of  my  days  have  rendered 
me  selfish.  I  think  I  should  long  ago  have  sought  some 
means  of  engaging  in  more  active  duties.  I  feel  as  if 
I  should  have  gone  into  the  thick  of  the  religious  con- 
test, and  spoken  and  fought,  and  helped  the  sick  and 
wounded  of  the  mental  battle, — but  now — now  it  is  too. 
late !  " 

"  Nothing  is  too  late  for  one  in  your  position," 
said  the  Archbishop — "  You  may  yet  sit  in  St.  Peter's 
chair !  " 

"  God  forbid !  "  ejaculated  Bonpre  fervently — "  I 
would  rather  die !  I  have  never  wished  to  rule, — I  have 
only  sought  to  help  and  to  comfort.  But  sixty-eight 
years  of  life  weigh  heavily  on  the  faculties, — I  cannot 
wear  the  sword  and  buckler  of  energetic  manhood.'  I  am 
old — old ! — and  to  a  certain  extent,  incapacitated  for  use- 
ful labour.  Hence  I  almost  grudge  my  halcyon  time 
spent  among  simple  folk, — time  made  sweet  by  all  the 
surroundings  of  Nature's  pastoral  loveliness; — the  sor- 
row of  the  wider  world  knocks  at  my  heart  and  makes  it 
ache !  I  feel  that  I  am  one  of  those  who  stand  by,  idly 
watching  the  Master's  second  death  without  one  word  of 
protest !  " 

The  archbishop  listened  in  silence.  There  was  a  curi- 
ous shamed  look  upon  his  face,  as  if  some  secret  sin  within 
himself  had  suddenly  been  laid  bare  in  all  its  vileness  to 
the  light  of  day.  The  golden  crucifix  he  wore  moved. 
restlessly  with  a  certain  agitated  quickness  in  his  breath- 


4*  The  Master-Christian. 

ing,  and  he  did  not  raise  his  eyes,  when,  after  a  little 
pause,  he  said — 

"  I  tell  you,  as  I  told  you  before,  that  you  think  too 
much ;  you  are  altogether  too  sensitive.  I  admit  that  at 
the  present  day  the  world  is  full  of  terrible  heresies  and 
open  blasphemy,  but  this  is  part  of  what  we  are  always 
bound  to  expect, — we  are  told  that  we  must  '  suffer  for 
righteousness'  sake '  " 

"We!"  said  the  Cardinal — "Yes,  we!  that  is,  our- 
selves;— the  Church — we  think,  when  we  hear  of  heresies 
and  blasphemies  that  it  is  we  who  are  '  suffering  for 
righteousness'  sake,'  but  in  our  egotism  we  forget  that  we 
are  not  suffering  at  all  if  we  are  able  to  retain  our  faith ! 
It  is  the  very  heretics  and  blasphemers  whom  we  con- 
demn that  are  suffering — suffering  absolute  tortures — 
perchance  '  for  righteousness'  sake  ' !  " 

"  Dare  we  call  a  heretic  'righteous'?"  enquired  the 
Archbishop — "  Is  he  not,  in  his  very  heresy,  accursed  ?  " 

"  According  to  our  Lord,  no  one  is  accursed  save 
traitors, — that  is  to  say  those  who  are  not  true.  If  a 
man  doubts,  it  is  better  he  should  admit  his  doubt  than 
make  a  pretence  of  belief.  The  persons  whom  we  call 
heretics  may  have  their  conception  of  the  truth, — they 
may  say  that  they  cannot  accept  a  creed  which  is  so  igno- 
rant of  its  own  tenets  as  to  condemn  all  those  who  do  not 
follow  it, — inasmuch  as  the  very  Founder  of  it  distinctly 
says — '  If  any  man  hear  my  words  and  believe  not,  I 
judge  him  not;  for  I  came  not  to  judge  the  world,  but  to 
save  the  world.'  Now  we,  His  followers,  judge,  but  do 
not  save.  The  atheist  is  judged  by  us,  but  not  rescued 
from  his  unbelief;  the  thinker  is  condemned, — the  scien- 
tist who  reveals  the  beauty  and  wisdom  of  God  as  made 
manifest  in  the  composition  of  the  lightning,  or  the  ger- 
minating of  a  flower,  is  accused  of  destroying  religion. 
And  we  continue  to  pass  our  opinion,  and  thunder  our 
vetoes  and  bans  of  excommunication  against  our  fellow- 
men,  in  the  full  front  of  the  plain  command  '  Judge  not, 
that  ye  be  not  judged  ' !  " 

"  I  see  it  is  no  use  arguing  with  you,"  said  the  Arch- 
bishop, forcing  a  smile,  with  a  vexation  the  smile  could 
not  altogether  conceal, — "  You  are  determined  to  take 
these  sayings  absolutely, — and  to  fret  your  spirit  over  the 
non-per|frrmance  of  imaginary  duties  which  do  not  ex- 


The  Master-Christian.  43 

1st.  This  Church  is  a  system, — founded  on  our  Lord's 
teaching,  but  applied  to  the  needs  of  modern  civilization. 
It  is  not  humanly  possible  to  literally  obey  all  Christ's 
commands." 

"  For  the  outside  world  I  grant  it  may  be  difficult, — but 
for  the  ministers  of  religion,  however  difficult  it  may  be, 
it  should  be  done,"  replied  the  Cardinal  firmly.  "  I  said 
this  before,  and  I  deliberately  maintain  it.  The  Church  is 
a  system, — but  whether  it  is  as  much  founded  on  the 
teaching  of  our  Lord,  who  was  divine,  as  on  the  teaching 
of  St.  Paul,  who  was  not  divine,  is  a  question  to  me  of 
much  perplexity." 

"  St.  Paul  was  directly  inspired  by  our  Lord,"  said  the 
Archbishop — "  I  am  amazed  that  you  should  even  hint  a 
doubt  of  his  apostleship!  " 

"  I  do  not  decry  St.  Paul,"  answered  Bonpre  quietly — 
"  He  was  a  gifted  and  clever  man,  but  he  was  a  Alan — 
he  was  not  God-in-Man.  Christ's  doctrine  leaves  no 
place  for  differing  sects;  St.  Paul's  method  of  applying 
that  doctrine  serves  as  authority  for  the  establishment 
of  any  and  every  quarrelsome  sect  ever  known !  " 

"  I  cannot  agree  with  you,"  said  the  Archbishop  coldly. 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  be  agreed  with  " — and  Bonpre 
smiled  a  little — "  An  opinion  which  excites  no  opposition 
at  all  is  not  worth  having!  I  am  quite  honest  in  my 
scruples,  such  as  they  are ; — I  do  not  think  we  fit,  as  you 
say.  the  Church  system  to  the  needs  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  we  must  fail  in  many  ways  to  do 
this,  else  there  would  not  be  such  a  crying  out  for  help 
and  comfort  as  there  is  at  present  among  all  Christian 
peoples.  We  no  longer  speak  with  a  grand  certainty  as 
we  ought  to  do.  We  only  offer  vague  hopes  and  dubious 
promises  to  those  who  thirst  for  the  living  waters  of  sal- 
vation and  immortality, — it  is  as  if  we  did  not  feel  sure 
enough  of  God  ourselves  to  make  others  sure.  All  this 
is  wrong — wrong!  It  forebodes  heavy  punishment  and 
disaster.  If  I  were  younger,  I  could  express  perhaps  my 
meaning  more  clearly, — but  as  it  is,  my  soul  is  weighted 
with  unutterable  thoughts, — I  would  almost  call  them 
warnings, — of  some  threatening  evil;  .  .  .  and  to- 
day— only  this  afternoon — when  I  sat  for  an  hour  in  the 
Cathedral  yonder  and  listened  to  the  music  of  the  great 
organ —  • 


44  The  Master-Christian. 

The  Archbishop  started. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  repeated  his  words  gently, — 

"  I  said  that  I  sat  in  the  Cathedral  and  listened  to  the 
music  of  the  great  organ — 

"  The  great  organ !  "  interrupted  the  Archbishop, — 
"  You  must  have  been  dreaming !  You  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  heard  the  great  organ, — it  is  old  and  all  out  of 
gear ; — it  is  never  used.  The  only  one  we  have  for  serv- 
ice just  now  is  a  much  smaller  instrument  in  the  left- 
hand  choir-chapel, — but  no  person  could  have  played  even 
on  that  without  the  key.  And  the  key  was  unobtainable, 
as  the  organist  is  absent  from  the  town  to-day." 

The  Cardinal  looked  completely  bewildered. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  this  ?  "  he  asked  falteringly. 

"  Sure — absolutely  sure !  "  declared  the  Archbishop 
with  a  smile — "  No  doubt  you  thought  you  heard  music ; 
overwrought  nerves  often  play  these  tricks  upon  us.  And 
it  is  owing  to  this  same  cause  that  you  are  weary  and  dis- 
pirited, and  that  you  take  such  a  gloomy  view  of  the  social 
and  religious  outlook.  You  are  evidently  out  of  health 
and  unstrung ; — but  after  you  have  had  sufficient  rest  and 
change,  you  will  see  things  in  quite  a  different  aspect.  I 
will  not  for  a  moment  believe  that  you  could  possibly  be 
as  unorthodox  as  your  conversation  woulcl  imply, — 
it  would  be  a  total  misconception  of  your  true 
character,"  and  the  Archbishop  laughed  softly.  "  A 
total  misconception,"  he  repeated, — "  Why,  yes,  of  course 
it  would  be!  No  Cardinal-Archbishop  of  Holy  Mother 
Church  could  bring  such  accusations  against  its  ministry 
as  you  would  have  suggested,  unless  he  were  afflicted  by 
nervous  depression,  which,  as  we  all  know,  has  the  un- 
comfortable effect  of  creating  darkness  even  where  all  is 
light.  Do  you  stay  long  in  Rouen  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  Cardinal  abstractedly,  answering  the 
question  mechanically  though  his  thoughts  were  far  away 
— "  I  leave  for  Paris  to-morrow." 

"For  Paris?     And  then?" 

"  I  go  to  Rome  with  my  niece,  Angela  Sovrani, — she  is 
in  Paris  awaiting  my  arrival  now." 

"  Ah !  You  must  be  very  proud  of  your  niece !  "  mur- 
mured the  Archbishop  softly — "  She  is  famous  every- 
where,— a  great  artist ! — a  wonderful  genius !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  45 

"  Angela  paints  well — yes,"  said  the  Cardinal  quietly, — 
"  But  she  has  still  a  great  deal  to  learn.  And  she  is  un- 
fortunately much  more  alone  now  than  she  used  to  be, — 
her  mother's  death  last  year  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her." 

"  Her  mother  was  your  sister  ?  " 

"  My  only  sister,"  answered  the  Cardinal — "  A  -good, 
sweet  woman ! — may  her  soul  rest  in  peace !  Her  char- 
acter was  never  spoilt  by  the  social  life  she  was  compelled 
to  lead.  My  brother-in-law,  Prince  Sovrani,  kept  open 
house, — and  all  the  gay  world  of  Rome  was  accustomed 
to  flock  thither;  but  nowr — since  he  has  lost  his  wife, 
things  have  changed  very  much, — sadness  has  taken  the 
place  of  mirth, — and  Angela  is  very  solitary." 

"  Is  she  not  affianced  to  the  celebrated  Florian 
Varillo?" 

A  fleeting  shadow  of  pain  darkened  the  Cardinal's 
clear  eyes. 

"  Yes.  But  she  sees  very  little  of  him, — you  know  the 
strictness  of  Roman  etiquette  in  such  matters.  She  sees 
little — and  sometimes — so  I  think — knows  less.  How- 
ever, I  hope  all  will  be  well.  But  my  niece  is  over  sensi- 
tive, brilliantly  endowed,  and  ambitious, — at  times  I  have 
fears  for  her  future." 

"  Depression  again !  "  declared  the  Archbishop,  rising 
and  preparing  to  take  his  leave — "  Believe  me,  the  world 
is  full  of  excellence  when  we  look  upon  it  with  clear 
eyes ; — things  are  never  as  bad  as  they  seem.  To  my 
thinking,  you  are  the  last  man  alive  who  should  indulge  in 
melancholy  forebodings.  You  have  led  a  peaceful  and 
happy  life,  graced  with  the  reputation  of  many  good 
deeds,  and  you  are  generally  beloved  by  the  people  of 
whom  you  have  charge.  Then,  though  celibacy  is  your 
appointed  lot,  heaven  has  given  you  a  niece  as  dear  to 
you  as  any  child  of  your  owrn  could  be,  who  has  won  a 
pre-eminent  place  among  the  world's  great  artists,  and  is 
moreover  endowed  with  beauty  and  distinction.  What 
more  can  you  desire  ?  " 

He  smiled  expansively  as  he  spoke ;  the  Cardinal  looked 
at  him  steadfastly. 

"  I  desire  nothing!  "  he  answered — "  I  never  have  de- 
sired anything !  I  told  you  before  that  I  consider  I  have 
received  many  more  blessings  than  I  deserve.  It  is  not 
any  personal  grief  which  at  present  troubles  me, — it  is 


46  The  Master-Christian. 

something  beyond  myself.  It  is  a  sense  of  wrong, — 
an  appeal  for  truth, — a  cry  from  those  who  are  lost 
in  the  world, — the  lost  whom  the  Church  might  have 
saved !  " 

"  Merely  fancy !  "  said  the  Archbishop  cheerily — "  Like 
the  music  in  the  Cathedral !  Do  not  permit  your  imag- 
ination to  get  the  better  of  you  in  such  matters !  When 
you  return  from  Rome,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  if  you 
happen  to  come  through  Normandy  on  your  way  back  to 
your  own  people.  I  trust  you  will  so  far  honour  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  my  future  movements,"  answered 
the  Cardinal  gently, — "  But  if  I  should  again  visit  Rouen, 
I  will  certainly  let  you  know,  and  will,  if  you  desire  it, 
accept  your  friendly  hospitality." 

With  this,  the  two  dignitaries  shook  hands  and  the 
Archbishop  took  his  leave.  As  he  picked  his  way  care- 
fully down  the  rough  stairs  and  along  the  dingy  little 
passage  of  the  Hotel  Poitiers,  he  was  met  by  Jean  Patoux 
holding  a  lighted  candle  above  his  head  to  show  him  the 
way. 

"  It  is  dark,  Monseigneur,"  said  Patoux  apologeti- 
cally. 

"  It  is  very  dark,"  agreed  Monseigneur,  stumbling  as 
he  spoke,  and  feeling  rather  inclined  to  indulge  in  very 
uncanonical  language.  "  It  is  altogether  a  miserable 
hole,  mon  Patoux !  " 

"  It  is  for  poor  people  only,"  returned  Jean  calmly — 
"  And  poverty  is  not  a  crime,  Monseigneur." 

"  No,  it  is  not  a  crime,"  said  the  stately  Churchman  as 
he  reached  the  door  at  last,  and  paused  for  a  moment 
on  the  threshold, — a  broad  smile  wrinkling  up  his  fat 
cheeks  and  making  comfortable  creases  round  his  small 
eyes — "  But  it  is  an  inconvenience !  " 

"  Cardinal  Bonpre  does  not  say  so,"  observed  Patoux. 

"  Cardinal  Bonpre  is  one  of  two  things — a  saint  or  a 
fool!  Remember  that,  mon  Patoux!  Bon  soir!  Ben- 
edicite ! " 

And  the  Archbishop,  still  smiling  to  himself,  walked 
leisurely  across  the  square  in  the  direction  of  his  own 
house,  where  his  supper  awaited  him.  The  moon  had 
risen,  and  was  clambering  slowly  up  between  the  two 
tall  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  her  pure  silver  radiance 
streaming  mockingly  against  the  candle  Jean  Patoux 


The  Master-Christian.  47 

still  held  in  the  doorway  of  his  inn,  and  almost  extin- 
guishing its  flame. 

"  One  of  two  things — a  saint  or  a  fool,"  murmured 
Jean  with  a  chuckle — "  Well ! — it  is  very  certain  that  the 
Archbishop  is  neither !  " 

He  turned  in,  and  shut  his  door  as  far  as  it  would 
allow  him  to  do  so,  and  went  comfortably  to  bed,  where 
Madame  had  gone  before  him.  And  throughout  the 
Hotel  Poitiers  deep  peace  and  silence  reigned.  Every, 
one  in  the  house  slept,  save  Cardinal  Bonpre,  who  with 
the  Testament  before  him,  sat  reading  and  meditating 
deeply  for  an  hour  before  retiring  to  rest.  A  fresh  cause 
of  anxiety  had  come  upon  him  in  the  idea  that  perhaps 
his  slight  indisposition  was  more  serious  than  he  had 
deemed.  If,  as  the  Archbishop  had  said,  there  could 
have  been  no  music  possible  in  the  Cathedral  that  after- 
noon, how  came  it  that  he  had  heard  such  solemn  and 
entrancing  harmonies?  Was  his  mind  affected?  Was 
he  in  truth  imagining  what  did  not  exist?  Were  the 
griefs  of  the  world  his  own  distorted  view  of  things? 
Did  the  Church  faithfully  follow  the  beautiful  and  per- 
fect teachings  of  Christ  after  all?  He  tried  to  reason 
the  question  out  from  a  different  and  more  hopeful  stand- 
point, but  vainly; — the  conviction  that  Christianity  was 
by  no  means  the  supreme  regenerating  force,  or  the  vivi- 
fying Principle  of  Human  Life  which  it  was  originally 
meant  to  be,  was  borne  in  upon  him  with  increasing 
certainty,  and  the  more  he  read  the  Gospels,  the  more 
he  became  aware  that  the  Church-system  as  it  existed  was 
utterly  opposed  to  Christ's  own  command,  and  more- 
over was  drifting  further  and  further  away  from  Him 
with  every  passing  year. 

'  The  music  in  the  Cathedral  may  have  been  my  fancy," 
he  said. — "  But  the  discord  in  the  world  sounds  clear 
and  is  not  imagination.  A  casuist  in  religion  may  say 
'  It  was  to  be ' ; — that  heresies  and  dissensions  were 
prophesied  by  Christ,  when  He  said  '  Because  iniquity 
shall  abound,  the  love  of  manv  shall  grow  cold  ' ; — but 
this  does  not  excuse  the  Church  from  the  sin  of  neglect, 
if  any  neglects  exists.  One  thing  we  have  never  seemed 
to  thoroughly  understand,  and  this  is  that  Christ's  teach- 
ing is  God's  teaching,  and  that  it  has  not  stopped  with 
the  enunciation  of  the  Gospel.  It  is  going  on  even  now 


48  The  Master-Christian. 

— in  every  fresh  discovery  of  science, — in  every  new  na- 
tional experience, — in  everything  we  can  do,  or  think, 
or  plan,  the  Divine  instruction  steadily  continues  through 
the  Divine  influence  imparted  to  us  when  the  Godhead 
became  man,  to  show  men  how  they  might  in  turn  become 
gods.  This  is  what  we  forget  and  what  we  are  always 
forgetting;  so  that  instead  of  accepting  every  truth,  we 
quarrel  with  it  and  reject  it,  even  as  Judaea  rejected  Christ 
Himself.  It  is  very  strange  and  cruel ; — and  the  world's 
religious  perplexities  are  neither  to  be  wondered  at  nor 
blamed, — there  is  just  and  grave  cause  for  their  con- 
tinuance and  increase." 

He  closed  the  Testament,  and  being  thoroughly  fatigued 
in  body  as  well  as  mind,  he  at  last  retired.  Lying  down 
contentedly  upon  the  hard  and  narrow  bed  which  was  the 
best  the  inn  provided,  he  murmured  his  usual  prayer, — 
"  If  this  should  be  the  sleep  of  death,  Jesus  receive  my 
soul !  " — and  remained  for  a  little  while  with  his  eyes 
open,  looking  at  the  white  glory  of  the  moonlight  as  it 
poured  through  his  lattice  window  and  formed  delicate 
traceries  of  silver  luminance  on  the  bare  wooden  floor. 
He  could  just  see  the  dark  towers  of  Notre  Dame  from 
where  he  lay, — a  black  mass  in  the  moonbeams — a  mon- 
ument of  half-forgotten  history — a  dream  of  centuries, 
hallowed  or  blasphemed  by  the  prayers  and  aspirations 
of  dead  and  gone  multitudes  who  had  appealed  to  the 
incarnate  God-in-Man  before  its  altars.  God-in-Man  had 
been  made  manifest ! — how  long  would  the  world  have 
to  wait  before  Man-in-God  was  equally  created  and  de- 
clared? For  that  was  evidently  intended  to  be  the  final 
triumph  of  the  Christian  creed. 

"  We  should  have  gained  such  a  victory  long  ago," 
mused  Cardinal  Bonpre — "  only  that  we  ourselves  have 
set  up  stumbling-blocks,  and  rejected  God  at  every  step 
of  the  way." 

Closing  his  eyes  he  soon  slept;  the  rays  of  the  moon 
fell  upon  his  pale  face  and  silvery  hair  like  a  visible  ra- 
diant benediction, — and  the  bells  of  the  city  chimed  the 
hours  loudly  and  softly,  clanging  in  every  direction, 
without  waking  him  from  his  rest.  But  slumbering  as 
he  was,  he  had  no  peace, — for  in  his  sleep  he  was  troubled 
by  a  strange  vision. 


IV. 

As  the  terrors  of  imagined  suffering  are  always  worse 
than  actual  pain,  so  dreams  are  frequently  more  vivid 
than  the  reality  of  life, — that  is  we  are  sure  that  life  is 
indeed  reality,  and  not  itself  a  dream  within  a  dream. 
Cardinal  Bonpre's  sleep  was  not  often  disturbed  by  af- 
frighting visions, — his  methods  of  daily  living  were  too 
healthy  and  simple,  and  his  conscience  too  clear; — but 
on  this  particular  night  he  was  visited  by  an  impression 
rather  than  a  dream, — the  impression  of  a  lonely,  and 
terrifying  dreariness,  as  though  the  whole  world  were 
suddenly  emptied  of  life  and  left  like  a  hollow  shell  on 
the  shores  of  time.  Gradually  this  first  sense  of  utter 
and  unspeakable  loss  changed  into  a  startled  conscious- 
ness of  fear ; — some  awful  transformation  of  things  fa- 
miliar was  about  to  be  consummated; — and  he  felt  the 
distinct  approach  of  some  unnameable  Horror  which  was 
about  to  convulse  and  overwhelm  all  mankind.  Then  in 
his  dream,  a  great  mist  rose  up  before  his  eyes, — a  min- 
gling as  of  sea-fog  and  sun-flame, — and  as  this  in  turn 
slowly  cleared, — dispersing  itself  in  serpentine  coils  of 
golden-grey  vapour, — he  found  himself  standing  on  the 
edge  of  a  vast  sea,  glittering  in  a  light  that  was  neither 
of  earth  nor  of  heaven,  but  that  seemed  to  be  the  inward 
reflection  of  millions  of  flashing  sword  blades.  And  as 
he  stood  gazing  across  the  width  of  the  waters,  the  sky 
above  him  grew  black,  and  a  huge  ring  of  fire  rose  out 
of  the  east,  instead  of  the  beloved  and  familiar  sun, — 
fire  that  spread  itself  in  belching  torrents  of  flame  up- 
ward and  downward,  and  began  to  absorb  in  its  devour- 
ing heat  the  very  sea.  Then  came  a  sound  of  many 
thunders,  mingled  with  the  roar  of  rising  waters  and 
the  turbulence  of  a  great  whirlwind, — and  out  of  the 
whirlwind  came  a  Voice  saying — "  Now  is  the  end  of  all 
things  on  the  earth, — and  the  whole  world  shall  be  burnt 
up  as  a  dead  leaf  in  a  sudden  flame !  And  we  will  create 
from  out  its  ashes  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth,  and  we 


50  The  Master-Christian. 

will  call  forth  new  beings  wherewith  to  people  the  fair- 
ness of  our  fresh  creation, — for  the  present  generation  of 
mankind  hath  rejected  God, — and  God  henceforth  re- 
jecteth  His  faithless  and  unworthy  creatures !  Where- 
fore let  now  this  one  dim  light  amid  the  thousand  million 
brighter  lights  be  quenched, — let  the  planet  known  to  all 
angels  as  the  Sorrowful  Star  fall  from  its  sphere  forever, 
— let  the  Sun  that  hath  given  it  warmth  and  nourishment 
be  now  its  chief  Destroyer,  and  let  everything  that  hath 
life  within  it,  perish  utterly  and  revive  no  more !  " 

And  Cardinal  Felix  heard  these  words  of  doom.  Pow- 
erless to  move  or  speak,  he  stood  watching  the  terrible 
circle  of  fire,  extend  and  expand,  till  all  the  visible  uni- 
verse seemed  melting  in  one  red  furnace  of  flame ; — and 
in  himself  he  felt  no  hope, — no  chance  of  rescue; — in 
himself  he  knew  that  the  appalling  work  of  destruction 
was  being  accomplished  with  a  deadly  swiftness  that  left 
no  time  for  lamentation, — that  the  nations  of  the  world 
were  as  flying  straws  swept  into  the  burning,  without 
space  or  moment  for  a  parting  prayer  or  groan.  Tor- 
tured by  an  excruciating  agony  too  great  for  tears,  he 
suddenly  found  voice,  and  lifting  his  face  towards  the 
lurid  sky  he  cried  aloud — 

"  God  of  Eternity,  stay  Thy  hand !  For  one  remaining 
Cause  be  merciful !  Doom  not  Thy  creature  Man  to  utter 
destruction! — but  still  remember  that  Thou  wast  born 
even  as  he !  As  helpless,  as  wronged,  as  tempted,  as  be- 
trayed, as  suffering,  as  prone  to  pain  and  death !  Thou 
hast  lived  his  life  and  endured  his  sorrows,  though  in  the 
perfect  glory  of  Thy  Godhead  Thou  hast  not  sinned ! 
Have  patience  yet,  oh  Thou  great  Splendour  of  all  worlds ! 
Have  patience  yet,  Thou  outraged  and  blasphemed 
Creator!  Break  once  again  Thy  silence  as  of  old  and 
speak  to  us ! — pity  us  once  again  ere  Thou  slay  us  utterly, 
— come  to  us  even  as  Thou  earnest  in  Judaea,  and  stirelv  we 
will  receive  Thee  and  obey  Thee,  and  reject  Thy  love  no 
more !  " 

As  he  thus  prayed  he  was  seized  with  a  paralysing  fear, 
— for  suddenly  the  red  and  glowing  chaos  of  fire  above 
him  changed  into  soft  skies  tinged  with  the  exquisite 
pearl-grey  hues  of  twilight,  and  he  became  conscious  of 
the  approach  of  a  great  invisible  Presence,  whose  awful 
unseen  beauty  overwhelmed  him  with  its  sublimity  and 


The  Master-Christian.  51 

majesty,  causing  him  to  forget  altogether  that  he  him- 
self existed.  And  Someone  spoke,— in  grave  sweet  ac- 
cents, so  soft  and  close  to  him  that  the  words  seemed 
almost  whispered  in  his  ears, — 

"  Thy  prayer  is  heard, — and  once  again  the  silence 
shall  be  broken.  Nevertheless  remember  that  '  the  light 
shineth  in  darkness  and  the  darkness  comprehendeth  it 
not '." 

Deep  silence  followed.  The  mysterious  Presence 
melted  as  it  were  into  space, — and  the  Cardinal  awoke, 
trembling  violently  and  bathed  in  a  cold  perspiration.  He 
gazed  bewilderedly  around  him,  his  mind  still  confused 
and  dazzled  by  the  strong  visionary  impression  of  the 
burning  heavens  and  sea, — and  he  could  not  for  a  mo- 
ment realize  where  he  was.  Then,  after  a  while,  he  rec- 
ognised the  humble  furniture  of  the  room  he  occupied, 
and  through  the  diamond-shaped  panes  of  the  little  lattice 
window,  perceived  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  now 
gleaming  with  a  kind  of  rusty  silver  in  the  broader  radi- 
ance of  the  fully  uplifted  moon. 

"  It  was  a  dream,"  he  murmured, — "  A  dream  of  the 
end  of  the  world !  "  He  shuddered  a  little  as  he  thougnt 
of  the  doom  pronounced  upon  the  earth, — the  planet 
"  known  to  all  angels  as  the  Sorrowful  Star  " — "  Let  the 
Sun  that  hath  given  it  warmth  and  nourishment  be  now 
its  chief  Destroyer." 

According  to  modern  scientists,  such  was  indeed  the 
precise  way  in  which  the  world  was  destined  to  come  to 
an  end.  And  could  anything  be  more  terrifying  than 
the  thought  that  the  glorious  Orb,  the  maker  of  day  and 
generator  of  all  beauty,  should  be  destined  to  hurl  from 
its  shining  centre  death  and  destruction  upon  the  planet 
it  had  from  creation  vivified  and  warmed !  The  Vision 
had  shown  the  devastating  ring  of  fire  rising  from  that 
very 'quarter  of  the  heavens  where  the  sun  should  have 
been  radiantly  beaming, — and  as  Felix  Bonpre  dwelt  upon 
the  picture  in  his  mind,  and  remembered  his  own  wild 
prayer  to  the  Eternal,  a  great  uneasiness  and  dread  over- 
whelmed him. 

"  God's  laws  can  never  be  altered ;"  he  said  aloud — 
"  Every  evil  deed  brings  its  own  punishment :  and  if  the 
world's  wickedness  becomes  too  great  an  offence  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Almighty,  it  follows  that  the  world  must  be 


52  The  Master-Christian. 

destroyed.  What  am  I  that  I  should  pray  against  Divine 
Justice !  For  truly  we  have  had  our  chance  of  rescue  and 
salvation ; — the  Way, — the  Truth, — and  the  Life  have 
been  given  to  us  through  Christ  our  Redeemer ;  and  if 
we  reject  Him,  we  reject  all,  and  we  have  but  ourselves 
to  blame." 

At  that  moment  a  plaintive  wailing,  as  of  some  human 
creature  in  distress  broke  on  his  ears  through  the  deep 
silence  of  the  night.  He  listened  attentively,  and  the 
sorrowful  sound  was  repeated, — a  desolate  yet  gentle  cry 
as  of  some  sick  and  suffering  child.  Moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse  the  Cardinal  rose,  and  going  to  the  window 
looked  anxiously  out,  and  down  into  the  street  below. 
Not  a  living  creature  was  to  be  seen-.  The  moonlight 
spread  itself  in  a  vast  silver  glory  over  the  whole  width 
of  the  square,  and  the  delicate  sculpture  of  the  great 
rose-window  of  the  Cathedral,  centrally  suspended  be- 
tween the  two  tall  towers,  looked  in  the  fine  pale  radiance 
like  a  giant  spider's  web  sparkling  with  fairy  dew.  Again 
— again ! — that  weary  sobbing  cry !  It  went  to  the  Car- 
dinal's heart,  and  stirred  him  to  singular  pain  and  pity. 

"  Surely  it  is  some  lost  or  starving  creature,"  he  said — 
"  Some  poor  soul  seeking  comfort  in  a  comfortless  world." 

Hastily  throwing  on  his  garments  he  left  his  room, 
treading  cautiously  in  order  not  to  disturb  the  sleeping 
household, — and  feeling  his  way  down  the  short,  dark 
staircase,  he  easily  reached  the  door  and  passed  noise- 
lessly out  into  the  square.  Walking  a  few  steps  hur- 
riedly he  paused,  once  more  listening.  The  night  was 
intensely  calm ; — not  a  cloud  crossed  the  star-spangled 
violet  dome  of  air  wherein  the  moon  soared  serenely, 
bathing  all  visible  things  in  a  crystalline  brilliancy  so  pure 
and  penetrative,  that  the  finest  cuttings  on  the  gigantic 
grey  facade  of  Notre  Dame  could  be  discerned  and  out- 
lined as  distinctly  as  though  every  little  portion  Were 
seen  through  a  magnifying  glass.  The  Cardinal's  tall 
attenuated  figure,  standing  alone  and  almost  in  the  centre 
of  the  square,  cast  a  long  thin  black  shadow  on  the  glisten- 
ing grey  stones, — and  his  dream-impression  of  an  empty 
world  came  back  forcibly  upon  him, — a  world  as  empty 
as  a  hollow  shell !  Houses  there  were  around  him,  and 
streets,  and  a  noble  edifice  consecrated  to  the  worship  of 
God, — nevertheless  there  was  a  sense  of  absolute  deser- 


The  Master-Christian.  53 

tion  in  and  through  all.  Was  not  the  Cathedral  itself 
the  mere  husk  of  a  religion?  The  seed  had  dropped  out 
and  sunk  into  the  soil, — "  among  thorns  "  and  "  stony 
places  "  indeed, — and  some  "  by  the  wayside  "  to  be  de- 
voured by  birds  of  prey.  Darker  and  heavier  grew  the 
cloud  of  depression  on  the  Cardinal's  soul, — and  more 
and  more  passionate  became  the  protest  which  had  for  a 
long  time  been  clamouring  in  him  for  utterance, — the 
protest  of  a  Churchman  against  the  Church  he  served ! 
It  was  terrible, — and  to  a  "  prince  of  the  Roman  Church  " 
hideous  and  unnatural ;  nevertheless  the  protest  existed, 
and  it  had  in  some  unaccountable  way  grown  to  be  more 
a  part  of  him  than  he  himself  realized. 

'  The  world  is  empty  because  God  is  leaving  it,"  he 
said,  sorrowfully  raising  his  eyes  to  the  tranquil  heavens, 
— "  and  the  joy  of  existence  is  departing  because  the  Di- 
vine and  Holy  Spirit  of  things  is  being  withdrawn !  " 

He  moved  on  a  few  paces, — and  once  more  through 
the  deep  stillness  the  little  sobbing  cry  of  sorrow  was 
wafted  tremulously  to  his  ears.  It  came  or  seemed  to 
come  from  the  Cathedral,  and  quickening  his  steps  he 
went  thither.  The  deeply  hollowed  portal,  full  of  black 
shadows,  at  first  showed  nothing  but  its  own  massively 

sculptured  outlines then all  at  once  the  Cardinal 

perceived  standing  within  the  embrasured  darkness, 
the  slight  shrinking  figure  of  a  child.  A  boy's  desolate 
little  figure, — with  uplifted  hands  clasped  appealingly  and 
laid  against  the  shut  Cathedral  door,  and  face  hidden  and 
pressed  hard  upon  those  hands,  as  though  in  mute  and  in- 
consolable despair.  As  the  Cardinal  softly  drew  nearer, 
a  long  shuddering  sigh  from  the  solitary  little  creature 
moved  his  heart  anew  to  pity,  and  speaking  in  accents 
of  the  utmost  gentleness  he  said — 

"  My  poor  child,  what  troubles  you  ?  Why  are  you 
here  all  alone,  and  weeping  at  this  late  hour?  Have  you 
no  home  ? — no  parents  ?  " 

Slowly  the  boy  turned  round,  still  resting  his  small 
delicate  hands  against  the  oaken  door  of  the  Cathedral, 
and  with  the  tears  yet  wet  upon  his  cheeks,  smiled.  What 
a  sad  face  he  had  ! — worn  and  weary,  yet  beautiful ! — what 
eyes,  heavy  with  the  dews  of  sorrow,  yet  tender  even  in 
pain !  Startled  by  the  mingled  purity  and  grief  of  so 
young  a  countenance,  the  Cardinal  retreated  for  a  mo- 


54  The  Master-Christian. 

ment  in  amaze, — then  approaching  more  closely  he  re- 
peated his  former  question  with  increased  interest  and 
tenderness — 

"  Why  are  you  weeping  here  alone  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  left  alone  to  weep,"  said  the  boy,  an- 
swering in  a  soft  voice  of  vibrating-  and  musical  melan- 
choly— "  For  me,  the  world  is  empty." 

An  empty  world !  His  dream-impression  of  universal 
desolation  and  desertion  came  suddenly  back  upon  the 
prelate's  mind,  and  a  sudden  trembling  seized  him,  though 
he  could  discover  in  himself  no  cause  for  fear.  Anxiously 
he  surveyed  the  strange  and  solitary  little  wayfarer  on 
the  threshold  of  the  Cathedral,  and  while  he  thus  looked, 
the  boy  said  wistfully — 

"  I  should  have  rested  here  within,  but  it  is  closed 
against  me." 

"  The  doors  are  always  locked  at  night,  my  child,"  re- 
turned the  Cardinal,  recovering  from  his  momentary 
stupor  and  bewilderment,  "  But  I  can  give  you  shelter. 
Will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

With  a  half-questioning,  half-smiling  look  of  grateful 
wonder,  the  boy  withdrew  his  hands  from  their  uplifted, 
supplicating  and  almost  protesting  attitude  against  the 
locked  Cathedral-door,  and  moving  out  of  the  porch 
shadows  into  the  wide  glory  of  the  moonlight,  he  con- 
fronted his  interlocutor — 

"Will  I  come  with  you?"  he  said — "  Xav,  but  I  see 
you  are  a  Cardinal  of  the  Church,  and  it  is  I  should  ask 
'  will  you  receive  me  ?  '  You  do  not  know  who  I  am — nor 
where  I  came  from,  and  I,  alas !  may  not  tell  you !  I  am 
alone ;  all — all  alone, — for  no  one  knows  me  in  the  world, 
— I  am  quite  poor  and  friendless,  and  have  nothing  where- 
with to  pay  you  for  your  kindly  shelter 1  can  only 

bless  you !  " 

Very  simply,  very  gravely  the  young  boy  spoke  these 
words,  his  delicate  head  uplifted,  his  face  shining  in  the 
moon-rays,  and  his  slight,  childish  form  erect  with  a 
grace  which  was  not  born  of  pride  so  much  as  of  endur- 
ance, and  again  the  Cardinal  trembled,  though  he  knew 
not  why.  Yet  in  his  very  agitation,  the  desire  he  had  to 
persuade  the  tired  child  to  go  with  him  grew  stronger 
and  overmastered  every  other  feeling. 

"  Come  then,"  he  said,  smiling  and  extending  his  hand, 


The  Master-Christian.  55 

"  Come,  and  you  shall  sleep  in  my  room  for  the  remainder 
of  the  night,  and  to-morrow  we  will  talk  of  the  future. 
At  present  you  need  repose." 

The  boy  smiled  gratefully  but  said  nothing,  and  the 
Cardinal,  satisfied  with  the  mere  look  of  assent  walked 
with  his  foundling  across  the  square  and  into  the  Hotel 
Poitiers.  Arrived  at  his  own  bed-room,  he  smoothed  his" 
couch  and  settled  the  pillows  carefully  with  active  zeal 
and  tenderness.  The  boy  stood  silently,  looking  on. 

"  Sleep  now,  my  child,"  said  the  Cardinal, — "  and  for- 
get all  your  troubles.  Lie  down  here;  no  one  will  dis- 
turb you  till  the  morning." 

"  But'  you,  my  lord  Cardinal,"  said  the  boy — "  Are  you 
depriving  yourself  of  comfort  in  order  to  give  it  to  me? 
This  is  not  the  way  of  the  \vorld !  " 

"  It  is  my  way,"  said  the  Cardinal  cheerfully, — "  And 
if  the  world  has  been  unkind  to  you,  my  boy,  still  take 
courage, — it  will  not  always  be  unjust!  Do  not  trouble 
yourself  concerning  me ;  I  shall  sleep  well  on  the  sofa 
in  the  next  room — indeed,  I  shall  sleep  all  the  better  for 
knowing  that  your  tears  have  ceased,  and  that  for  the 
present  at  least  you  are  safely  sheltered." 

With  a  sudden  quick  movement  the  boy  advanced  and 
caught  the  Cardinal's  hands  caressingly  in  his  own. 

"  Oh,  are  you  sure  you  understand  ?  "  he  said,  his  voice 
growing  singularly  sweet  and  almost  tender  as  he  spoke 
— "  Are  you  sure  that  it  is  well  for  you  to  shelter  me? — 
I — a  stranger, — poor,  and  with  no  one  to  speak  for  me? 
How  do  you  know  what  I  may  be?  Shall  I  not  perhaps 
prove  ungrateful  and  wrong  your  kindness  ?  " 

His  worn  little  face  upturned,  shone  in  the  dingy  little 
room  with  a  sudden  brightness  such  as  one  might  imagine 
would  illumine  the  features  of  an  angel,  and  Felix  Bon- 
pre  looked  down  upon  him  half  fascinated,  in  mingled 
pity  and  wonder. 

"  Such  results  are  with  God,  my  child,"  he  said  gently 
— "  I  do  not  seek  your  gratitude.  It  is  certainly  well  for 
me  that  I  should  shelter  you, — it  would  be  ill  indeed  if 
I  permitted  any  living  creature  to  suffer  for  lack  of  what 
I  could  give.  Rest  here  in  peace,  and  remember  it  is  for 
my  own  pleasure  as  well  as  for  your  good  that  I  desire 
you  to  sleep  well." 

"  And  you  do  not  even  ask  my  name  ?  "  said  the  boy, 


56  The  Master-Christian. 

half  smiling  and  still  raising  his  sorrowful  deep  blue  eyes 
to  the  Cardinal's  face. 

"  You  will  tell  me  that  when  you  please,"  said  Felix, 
laying  one  hand  upon  the  soft  curls  that  clustered 
over  his  foundling's  forehead — "  I  am  in  no  wise  curious. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that  you  are  a  child  and 
alone  in  the  world, — such  sorrow  makes  me  your  servant." 

Gently  the  boy  loosened  his  clasp  of  the  Cardinal's 
hands. 

"  Then  I  have  found  a  friend !  "  he  said, — "  That  is 
very  strange !  "  He  paused,  and  the  smile  that  had  once 
before  brightened  his  countenance  shone  again  like  a 
veritable  flash  of  sunlight — "  You  have  the  right  to  know 
my  name,  and  if  you  choose,  to  call  me  by  it, — it  is 
Manuel." 

"  Manuel !  "  echoed  the  Cardinal — "  No  more  than 
that  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  that,"  replied  the  boy  gravely — "  I  am 
one  of  the  world's  waifs  and  strays, — one  name  suf- 
fices me." . 

There  followed  a  brief  pause,  in  which  the  old  man 
and  the  child  looked  at  each  other  full  and  steadfastly, 
and  once  again  an  inexplicable  nervous  trembling  seized 
the  Cardinal.  Overcoming  this  with  an  effort,  he  said 
softly, — 

"  Then — Manuel ! — good  night !  Sleep — and  Our 
Lady's  blessing  be  upon  you !  " 

Signing  the  cross  in  air  he  retired,  carefully  shutting 
the  door  and  leaving  his  new-found  charge  to  rest.  When 
he  was  once  by  himself  in  the  next  room,  however,  he 
made  no  attempt  to  sleep, — he  merely  drew  a  chair  to 
the  window  and  sat  down,  full  of  thoughts  which  utterly 
absorbed  him.  There  was  nothing  unusual,  surely,  in  his 
finding  a  small  lost  boy  and  giving  him  a  night's  lodging? 
— then  why  was  he  so  affected  by  it?  He  could  not  tell. 
He  fully  realized  that  the  plaintive  beauty  of  the  child 
had  its  share  in  the  powerful  attraction  he  felt, — but  there 
was  something  else  in  the  nature  of  his  emotion  which 
he  found  it  impossible  to  define.  It  was  as  though  some 
great  blankness  in  his  life  had  been  suddenly  filled ; — as 
if  the  boy  whom  he  had  found  solitary  and  weeping  within 
the  porch  of  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame,  belonged  to 
him  in  some  mysterious  way  and  was  linked  to  his  life 


The  Master-Christian.  57 

so  closely  and  completely  as  to  make  parting  impossible. 
But  what  a  fantastic  notion!  Viewed  by  the  light  of 
calm  reason,  there  was  nothing  in  the  occurrence  to  give 
rise  to  any  such  sentiment.  Here  was  a  poor  little  way- 
farer, evidently  without  parents,  home,  or  friends, — and 
the  Cardinal  had  given  him  a  night's  lodging,  and  to- 
morrow  yes,  to-morrow,  he  would  give  him  food  and 

warm  clothing  and  money, — and  perhaps  a  recommenda- 
tion to  the  Archbishop  in  order  that  he  might  get  a 
chance  of  free  education  and  employment  in  Rouen,  while 
proper  enquiries  were  being  made  about  him.  That  was 
the  soberly  prosaic  and  commonplace  view  to  take  of  the 
matter.  The  personality  of  the  little  fellow  was  in- 
tensely winning, — but  after  all,  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  facts  cvf  the  case.  He  was  a  waif  and  stray,  as  he 
himself  had  said ;  his  name,  so  far  as  he  seemed  to  know 
it,  was  Manuel, — an  ordinary  name  enough  in  France, — 
and  his  age  might  be  about  twelve, — not  more.  Some- 
thing could  be  done  for  him, — something  should  be  done 
for  him  before  the  Cardinal  parted  with  him.  But  this 
idea  of  "  parting  "  was  just  what  seemed  so  difficult  to 
contemplate !  Puzzled  beyond  measure  at  the  strange 
state  of  mind  in  which  he  found  himself,  Felix  Bonpre 
went  over  and  over  again  all  the  events  of  the  day  in 
order, — his  arrival  in  Rouen, — his  visit  to  the  Cathedral, 
and  the  grand  music  he  had  heard  or  fancied  he  heard 
there, — his  experience  with  the  sceptical  little  Patoux 
children  and  their  mother, — his  conversation  with  the 
Archbishop,  in  which  he  had  felt  much  more  excitement 
than  he  was  willing  to  admit, — his  dream  wherein  he  had 
been  so  painfully  impressed  with  a  sense  of  the  deser- 
tion, emptiness,  and  end  of  the  world,  and  finally  his  dis- 
covery of  the  little  lonely  and  apparently  forsaken  boy, 
thrown  despairingly  as  it  were  against  the  closed  Cathe- 
dral, like  a  frail  human  wreck  cast  up  from  the  gulf  of 
the  devouring  sea.  Each  incident,  trivial  in  itself,  yet 
seemed  of  particular  importance,  though  he  could  not 
explain  or  analyse  why  it  should  be  so.  Meditatively  he 
sat  and  watched  the  moon  sink  like  a  silver  bubble  falling 
downward  in  the  dark, — the  stars  vanished  one  by  one, 
— and  a  faint  brown-gold  line  of  suggestive  light  in  the 
east  began  the  slow  creation  of  a  yet  invisible  dawn. 
Presently,  yielding  to  a  vague  impulse  of  inexplicable 


58  The  Master-Christian. 

tenderness,  he  rose  softly  and  went  to  the  threshold  of 
the  room  where  his  foundling  slept.  Holding  his  breath, 
he  listened — but  there  was  no  sound.  Very  cautiously 
and  noiselessly  he  opened  the  door,  and  looked  in, — a  del- 
icate half-light  came  through  the  latticed  window  and 
seemed  to  concentrate  itself  on  the  bed  where  the  tired 
wanderer  lay.  His  fine  youthful  profile  was  distinctly 
outlined, — the  soft  bright  hair  clustered  like  a  halo  round 
his  broad  brows, — and  the  two  small  hands  were  crossed 
upon  his  breast,  while  in  his  sleep  he  smiled.  Always 
touched  by  the  beauty,  innocence  and  helplessness  of 
childhood,  something  in  the  aspect  of  this  little  lad  moved 
the  venerable  prelate's  heart  to  an  unwonted  emotion, — 
and  looking  upon  him,  he  prayed  for  guidance  as  to  what 
he  should  best  do  to  rescue  so  gentle  and  young  a  creature 
from  the  cruelties  of  the  world. 

"  He  has  trusted  me,"  said  the  Cardinal, — "  I  have 
found  him,  and  I  cannot — dare  not — forsake  him.  For 
the  Master  says  '  Whosoever  shall  receive  one  such  little 
child  in  My  name  receiveth  Me'." 


V. 

THE  next  morning  broke  fair  and  calm,  and  as  soon 
as  the  Patoux  household  were  astir,  Cardinal  Bonpre 
sought  Madame  Patoux  in  her  kitchen,  and  related  to  her 
the  story  of  his  night's  adventure.  She  listened  defer- 
entially, but  could  not  refrain  from  occasional  exclama- 
tions of  surprise,  mingled  with  suggestions  of  warning. 

"  It  is  like  your  good  heart,  Monseigneur,"  she  said, 
"  to  give  your  own  bed  to  a  stray  child  out  of  the  street, 
— one,  too,  of  whom  you  know  nothing, — but  alas !  how 
often  such  goodness  is  repaid  by  ingratitude !  The  more 
charity  you  show  the  less  thanks  you  receive, — yes,  in- 
deed, it  is  often  so ! — and  it  seems  as  if  the  Evil  One  were 
in  it !  For  look  you,  I  myself  have  never  done  a  kindness 
yet  without  getting  a  cruelty  in  exchange  for  it." 

'  That  is  a  sad  experience,  my  daughter,"  returned  the 
Cardinal  smiling, — "  Nevertheless,  it  is  our  duty  to  go  on 
doing  kindnesses,  no  matter  what  the  results  to  ourselves 
may  be.  It  is  understood — is  it  not?  that  we  are  to  be 
misjudged  in  this  world.  If  we  had  nothing  to  suffer, 
what  would  be  the  use  of  exercising  such  virtues  as  pa- 
tience and  endurance  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Monseigneur,  for  you  it  is  different,"  said 
Madame  Patoux  shaking  her  head  and  sighing — "You  are 
like  the  blessed  saints — safe  in  a  niche  of  Holy  Church, 
with  Our  Lady  for  ever  looking  after  you.  But  for  poor 
people  such  as  we  are — we  see  the  rough  side  of  life, 
Monseigneur — and  we  know  that  there  is  very  little  good- 
ness about  in  the  world, — and  as  for  patience  and  endur- 
ance ! — why,  no  one  in  these  days  has  the  patience  to 
endure  even  the  least  contradiction !  Two  men, — aye 
even  brothers, — will  fight  for  a  word  like  mongrels  quar- 
relling over  a  bone ; — and  two  women  will  scream  them- 
selves hoarse  if  one  should  have  a  lover  more  than  the 
other — asking  your  pardon,  Monseigneur,  for  such  wicked 
talk !  Still,  wicked  as  it  may  be,  it  is  true — and  not  all 
the  powers  of  Heaven  seem  to  care  about  making  things 


60  The  Master-Christian. 

better.  And  for  this  boy, — believe  me, — you  had  better 
leave  him  to  his  own  way — for  there  will  be  no  chance  of 
getting  such  a  poor  little  waif  into  the  school  unless  his 
father  and  mother  are  known,  or  unless  someone  will 
adopt  him,  which  is  not  likely  .  .  .  for  Rouen  is  full  of 
misery,  and  there  are  enough  mouths  to  feed  in  most  fam- 
ilies  and  .  .  .  mon  Dieu  ! — is  that  the  child  ?  " 

Thus  abruptly  she  broke  off  her  speech,  utterly  taken 
aback  as  she  suddenly  perceived  the  little  Manuel  stand- 
ing before  her.  Poorly  clad  in  the  roughest  garments  as 
he  was,  his  grace  and  plaintive  beauty  moved  her  heart 
to  quick  compassion  for  his  loneliness  as  he  came  to- 
wards the  Cardinal,  who,  extending  one  hand,  drew  him 
gently  to  his  side  and  asked  if  he  had  slept  well? 

'  Thanks  to  your  goodness,  my  lord  Cardinal,"  the 
boy  replied,  "  I  slept  so  well  that  I  thought  I  was  in. 
Heaven !  I  heard  the  angels  singing  in  my  dreams ; — 
yes ! — I  heard  all  the  music  of  a  happy  world,  in  which 
there  never  had  been  known  a  sin  or  sorrow !  " 

He  rested  his  fair  head  lightly  against  the  Cardinal's 
arm  and  smiled.  Madame  Patoux  gazed  at  him  in  fas- 
cinated silence, — gazed  and  gazed, — till  she  found  her 
eyes  suddenly  full  of  tears.  Then  she  turned  away  to 
hide  them, — but  not  before  Cardinal  Bonpre  had  observed 
her  emotion. 

"  Well,  good  mother  "  he  said  with  gentle  emphasis  on 
the  word — "  Would  you  have  me  forsake  this  child  that  I 
have  found  ?  " 

"  No,  Monseigneur, — no,"  said  Madame  Patoux  ver}' 
softly  and  tremulously — "  It  is  almost  as  if  he  were  a  lit- 
tle lost  Angel  sent  to  comfort  you." 

A  curious  thrill  went  through  the  Cardinal.  An  angel 
to  comfort  him!  He  looked  down  at  Manuel  who  still 
clung  caressingly  to  his  arm,  and  who  met  his  earnest 
scrutiny  with  a  sweet  candid  smile. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from,  Manuel  ?  "  asked  Bonpre 
suddenly. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  the  boy  answered,  straightly,  yet 
simply. 

The  Cardinal  paused  a  moment,  his  keen  penetrating 
eyes  dwelling  kindly  on  the  noble  young  face  beside  him. 

"  You  do  not  wish  to  tell  me, — is  that  so  ?  "  he  pursued. 

"  Yes,"  said  Manuel  quietly — "  I  do  not  wish  to  tell 


The  Master-Christian.  61 

you.  And  if,  because  of  this,  you  regret  your  kindness  to 
me,  my  lord  Cardinal,  I  will  go  away  at  once  and  trouble 
you  no  more." 

But  at  these  words  the  Cardinal  felt  such  a  sharp 
consciousness  of  pain  and  loss  that  his  nerves  ached  with 
positive  fear. 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  child,"  he  said  anxiously — "  I  cannot 
let  you  go.  It  shall  be  as  you  please, — I  will  not  think 
that  you  could  do  yourself  or  me  a  wrong  by  concealing 
what  would  be  right  for  you  to  tell.  It  is  true  that  you  are 
alone  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  Quite,  quite  alone !  "  answered  Manuel,  a  faint  shadow 
darkening  the  serenity  of  his  eyes — "  No  one  was  ever 
more  alone  than  I !  " 

Madame  Patoux  drew  nearer  and  listened. 

"  And  there  is  no  person  living  who  has  the  right  to 
claim  you  ?  " 

"  None !  " 

"  And  is  it  not  strange,  Monseigneur,"  murmured 
Madame  Patoux  at  this  juncture — "  The  little  lad  does 
not  speak  as  if  he  were  ignorant !  It  is  as  "though  he 
had  been  well  taught  and  carefully  nurtured." 

Manuel's  deep  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  with  a  meditative 
sweetness. 

"  I  have  taught  myself ;"  he  said  simply — "  Not  out  of 
books,  perhaps,  but  out  of  nature.  The  trees  and  rivers, 
the  flowers  and  birds  have  talked  to  me  and  explained 
many  things ; — I  have  learned  all  I  know  from  what  God 
has  told  me." 

His  voice  was  so  gentle  and  tender  that  Madame  Patoux 
was  infinitely  touched  by  its  soft  plaintiveness. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  she  murmured, — "  He  has  no  doubt  been 
wandering  through  the  country,  without  a  soul  to  help 
him.  Alas,  that  troubles  should  begin  for  one  so  young! 
Perhaps  he  does  not  even  know  a  prayer !  " 

"  Oh  yes !  "  said  Manuel  quickly — "  Prayer  is  like 
thought, — God  is  so  good  that  it  is  only  natural  to  thank 
and  praise  Him.  Is  it  not  so?  " 

".It  should  be  natural,  my  boy,"  answered  the  Cardinal 
slowly  and  with  a  slight  accent  of  melancholy, — "  But 
for  many  of  us  in  these  days  I  fear  it  is  more  natural  still 
to  forget  than  to  remember.  Too  often  we  take  gifts  and 
ignore  the  giver.  But  come  now  and  breakfast  in  my 


62  The  Master-Christian. 

room ; — for  the  present  you  shall  remain  with  me,  and  I 
will  see  what  can  best  be  done  for  your  future  welfare." 

And  turning  to  Madame  Patoux  he  added  smilingly — 
"  You,  my  daughter,  with  children  of  your  own  to  care 
for,  will  no  longer  blame  me  for  my  interest  in  this  child, 
who  is  without  protection  in  a  somewhat  rough  world. 
We  of  the  Church  dare  not  '  offend  one  of  these  little 
ones'." 

"  Ah,  Monseigneur !  "  murmured  Madame, — "  If  all 
in  the  Church  were  like  you,  some  poor  folks  would  be- 
lieve in  God  more  willingly.  But  when  people  are  starv- 
ing and  miserable,  it  is  easy  to  understand  that  often  they 
will  curse  the  priests  and  even  religion  itself,  for  making 
such  a  mock  of  them  as  to  keep  on  telling  them  about 
the  joys  of  heaven,  when  they  are  tormented  to  the  very 
day  of  their  death  on  earth,  arid  are  left  without  hope  or 
rescue  of  any  kind " 

But  the  Cardinal  had  disappeared  with  his  young  charge 
and  Madame's  speech  was  lost  upon  him.  She  had  there- 
fore to  content  herself  with  relating  the  story  of  "  Mon- 
seigneur's  foundling "  to  her  husband,  who  just  then 
came  into  the  kitchen  to  take  his  breakfast  before  start- 
ing off  to  work  in  his  market-garden.  He  listened  with 
interest  and  attention. 

"  A  boy  is  always  a  trouble,"  he  said  sententiously — 
"  And  it  is  likely  that  so  Monseigneur  will  find  it.  How 
old  would  the  child  be  ?  " 

"  About  twelve,  I  should  say,"  answered  Madame — 
"  But  beautiful  as  a  little  angel,  Jean !  " 

"  That's  a  pity !  "  and  Patoux  shook  his  head  ominously 
— "  'Tis  bad  enough  when  a  girl  is  beautiful, — but  a  boy ! 

Well,  well !  Monseigneur  is  a  wise  man,  and  a  saint 

they  say, — he  knows  best, — but  I  fear  he  has  taken  a  bur- 
den upon  himself  which  he  will  very  soon  regret !  What 
dost  thou  think  of  it,  petite ?" 

Madame  hesitated  a  moment  before  replying. 

"  Truly,  I  do  not  know  what  to  think,"  she  answered 
— "  For  myself,  I  have  not  spoken  to  the  child.  I  have 
seen  him, — yes! — and  at  the  sight  of  him  a  something 
in  my  throat  rose  up  and  choked  me  as  it  were, — and 
stopped  me  from  saying  a  rough  word.  Such  a  lonely 
gentle  lad! — one  could  not  be  harsh  with  him,  and 
yet " 


The  Master-Christian.  63 

"  Yet !  Oh,  yes,  I  know  !  "  said  Patoux,  finishing  his 
coffee  at  a  gulp  and  smiling, — "  Women  will  always  be 
women, — and  a  handsome  face  in  girl  or  boy  is  enough 
to  make  fools  of  them  all.  Where  are  the  children  ?  Are 
they  gone  to  school  ?  " 

"  Yes — they  went  before  the  Cardinal  was  up.  '  Tis  a 
Saturday,  and  they  will  be  back  early, — they  are  going 
to  bring  little  Fabien  Doucet  to  Monseigneur." 

"  What  for?"  enquired  Patoux,  his  round  eyes  open- 
ing widely  in  amazement. 

"  Oh,  for  a  strange  fancy !  That  he  may  bless  the 
child  and  pray  Our  Lady  to  cure  him  of  his  lameness.  It 
was  Babette's  whim.  I  told  her  the  Cardinal  was  a  saint, 
— and  she  said, — well !  she  said  she  would  never  believe 
it  unless  he  worked  a  miracle !  The  wicked  mischief  that 
girl  is! — as  bad  as  Henri,  who  puts  a  doubt  on  every- 
thing !  " 

"  'Tis  the  school,"  said  Jean  gloomily — "  I  must  speak 
to  Pere  Laurent." 

"  Truly  that  would  be  well,"  said  Madame — "  He  may 
explain  what  we  cannot.  All  the  same,  you  may  be  sure 
the  children  will  bring  Fabien  Doucet  to  Monseigneur; 
— they  have  made  up  their  minds  about  it, — and  if  the 
little  miserable's  lameness  gets  no  better,  we  shall  have 
work  enough  in  future  to  make  the  saints  respected !  " 

Patoux  muttered  something  inaudible,  and  went  his 
way.  Life  was  in  his  opinion,  a  very  excellent  thing, — 
nevertheless  there  were  a  few  details  about  it  which  oc- 
casionally troubled  him,  and  one  of  these  details  was  de- 
cidedly the  "  national  education  "  question.  It  struck  him 
as  altogether  remarkable  that  the  State  should  force  him 
to  send  his  children  to  school  whether  he  liked  it  or  no; 
and  moreover  that  the  system  of  instruction  at  the  said 
school  should  be  totally  opposed  to  his  own  ideas.  He 
would  have  certainly  wished  his  son  to  learn  to  read  and 
write,  and  then  to  have  been  trained  as  a  thorough  florist 
and  gardener; — while  for  his  daughter  he  also  desired 
reading  and  writing  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  then  a 
complete  education  in  cooking  and  domestic  economy, 
so  that  she  might  be  a  useful  and  efficient  wife  and  mother 
when  the  proper  time  for  such  duties  came.  Astronomy 
he  felt  they  could  both  do  without,  and  most  of  the  "  phys- 
ical sciences."  Religion  he  considered  an  absolute  ne* 


64  The  Master-Christian. 

cessity,  and  this  was  the  very  thing  that  was  totally 
omitted  from  the  national  course  of  education.  He  was 
well  aware  that  there  are  countless  numbers  of  unhappy 
people  nowadays  who  despise  religion  and  mock  at  the 
very  idea  of  a  God.  Every  day  he  saw  certain  works  ex- 
posed for  sale  on  the  out-of-door  bookstalls  which  in 
their  very  titles  proclaimed  the  hideous  tone  of  blasphemy 
which  in  France  is  gradually  becoming  universal, — but 
this  did  not  affect  his  own  sense  of  what  was  right  and 
just.  He  was  a  very  plain  common  man,  but  he  held 'holy 
things  in  reverence,  and  instinctively  felt  that,  if  the 
world  were  in  truth  a  bad  place,  it  was  likely  to  become 
much  worse  if  all  faith  in  God  were  taken  out  of  it.  And 
when  he  reached  his  plot  of  ground  that  morning,  and 
set  to  work  as  usual,  he  was,  for  a  non-reflective  man, 
very  much  absorbed  in  thought.  His  heavy  tramping 
feet  over  the  soil  startled  some  little  brown  birds  from 
their  hidden  nests,  and  sent  them  flying  to  and  fro  through 
the  clear  air  uttering  sharp  chirrups  of  terror, — and,  lean- 
ing on  his  spade,  he  paused  and  looked  at  them  medita- 
tively. 

"  Everything  is  afraid,"  he  said, — "  Birds,  beasts,  and 
men, — all  are  afraid  of  something  and  cannot  tell  what 
it  is  that  frightens  them.  It  seems  hard  sometimes  that 
there  should  be  so  much  trouble  and  struggle  just  to  live 
— however,  the  good  God  knows  best, — and  if  we  could 
not  think  and  hope  and  believe  He  knew  best,  we  might 
just  as  well  light  up  a  charcoal  fire,  shut  all  the  doors  and 
windows,  and  say  '  Bon  jour !  Bon  jour,  Monsieur  le 
bon  Dieu ! — for  if  you  do  not  know  your  business, 
it  is  evident  we  do  not  know  ours,  and  therefore 
'tis  best  for  both  our  sakes  to  make  an  end  of  sheer 
Stupidity!  " 

He  chuckled  at  his  own  reasoning,  and  moistening  his 
hands  vigorously,  seized  his  spade  and  began  to  bank  up 
a  ridge  of  celery,  singing  "  Bon  jour,  Monsieur  le  bon 
Dieu !  "  under  his  breath  without  the  slightest  idea  of  ir- 
reverence. And  looking  up  at  the  bright  sky  occasion- 
ally, he  wished  he  had  seen  the  stray  boy  rescued  from 
the  streets  by  Cardinal  Bonpre. 

"  That  he  will  be  a  trouble,  there  is  no  doubt,"  he  said 
as  he  turned  and  patted  the  rich  dark  earth — "  Never 
was  there  a  boy  born  yet  into  the  world  that  was  not  a 


The  Master-Christian.  65 

trouble  except  our  Lord,  and  even  in  His  case  His  own 
people  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  Him ! " 

Meantime,  while  Jean  Patoux  dug  in  his  garden,  and- 
sang  and  soliloquized,  his  two  children,  Henri  and  Ba- 
bette,  their  school  hours  being  ended,  had  run  off  to  the 
market,  and  were  talking  vivaciously  with  a  big  brown 
sturdy  woman,  who  was  selling  poultry  at  a  stall,  under 
a  very  large  patched  red  umbrella.  She  was  Martine 
Doucet,  reported  to  have  the  worst  temper  and  most  vix- 
enish tongue  in  all  the  town,  though  there  were  some  who 
said  her  sourness  of  humour  only  arose  from  the  hard- 
ships of  her  life,  and  the  many  troubles  she  had  been 
fated  to  endure.  Her  husband,  a  fine  handsome  man, 
earning  good  weekly  wages  as  a  stone-mason,  had  been 
killed  by  a  fall  from  a  ladder,  while  engaged  in  helping 
to  build  one  of  the  new  houses  on  the  Boulevards,  and 
her  only  child  Fabien,  a  boy  of  ten  had,  when  a  baby, 
tumbled  from  the  cart  in  which  his  mother  was  taking  her 
poultry  to  market,  and  though  no  injury  was  apparent  at 
the  time,  had,  from  the  effects  of  the  fall,  grown  into  a 
poor  little  twisted  mite  of  humanity  with  a  bent  spine, 
and  one  useless  leg  which  hung  limply  from  his  body, 
while  he  could  scarcely  hobble  about  on  the  other,  even 
with  the  aid  of  a  crutch.  He  had  a  soft,  pretty,  plaintive 
face  of  his  own,  the  little  Fabien,  and  very  gentle  ways, 
— but  he  was  sensitively  conscious  of  his  misfortune,  and 
in  his  own  small  secret  soul  he  was  always  praying  that 
he  might  die  while  he  was  yet  a  child,  and  not  grow  up 
to  be  a  burden  to  his  mother.  Martine,  however,  adored 
him ;  and  it  was  through  her  intense  love  for  this  child  of 
hers  that  she  had,  in  a  strange  vengeful  sort  of  mood 
abandoned  God,  and  flung  an  open  and  atheistical  defi- 
ance in  the  face  of  her  confessor,  who,  missing  her  at 
mass,  had  ventured  to  call  upon  her  and  seriously  reproach 
her  for  neglecting  the  duties  of  her  religion.  Martine 
had  whirled  round  upon  him, — a  veritable  storm  in  pet- 
ticoats. 

"  Religion !  "  she  cried — "  Oh — he  !  What  good  has  it 
done  for  me,  if  you  please !  When  I  said  my  prayers  night 
and  morning,  went  to  mass  and  confession,  and  told  my 
rosary  every  Mary-Feast,  what  happened?  Was  not  my 
man  killed  and  my  child  crippled?  And  then, — (not  to 
lose  faith — )  did  I  not  give  the  saints  every  chance  of 


66  The  Master-Christian. 

behaving  themselves?    For  my  child's  sake  did  I  not  earn 
good  money  and  pay  it  to  the  Church  in  special  Amasses 
that  he  might  be  cured  of  his  lameness?    And  l\ovenas 
in  plenty,  and  candles  in  plenty  to  the  Virgin,  and  fast- 
ings of  my  own  and  penitences?     And  is  the  child  not 
as  lame  as  ever?    Look  at  him!— the  dear  angel !- 
never  an  evil  thought  or  a  wicked  way,— and  will  you 
trv  to  make  me  believe  there  is  a  good  God,  when  He 
will  not  help  a  poor  little  creature  like  that,  to  be  happy, 
though  He  is  prayed  to  night  and  morning  for  it ! 
no !    Churches  are  kept  up  for  priests  to  make  a  fat  living 
out  of  —but  there  is  never  a  God  in  them  that  I  can  see ; 
—and  as  for  the  Christ,  who  had  only  to  be  asked  in  order 
to  heal  the  sick,  there  is  not  so  much  as  a  ghost  of  I 
anvwhere!     If  what  you  priests  tell  us  were  true,  poor 
souls  such  as  I  am,  would  get  comfort  and  help  in  our 
sorrows,  but  it  is  all  a  lie!— the  whole  thing!— and  when 
we  are  in  trouble,  we  have  got  to  bear  it  as  best  we  can, 
without  so  much  as  a  kind  word  from  our  neighbours, 
let  alone  any  pity  from  the  saints.     Go  to  mass  again 
N0t  I  I—nor  to  confession  either !— and  no  more  of  my 
earnings  will  click  into  your  great  brass  collection  plate, 
man  reverend!     Ah  no!— I  have  been  a  foolish  woman 
indeed,  to  trust  so  long  in  a  God  who  for  all  my  tears 
prayers  never  gives  me  a  sign  or  a  hope  of  an  answer,— 
and  though  I  suppose  this  wretched  world  of  ours  was 
made  by  somebody,  whoever  it  is  that  has  done  it  is  a 
cruel  creature  at  best,  so  /  say —without  as  much  gooc 
feeling  as  there  is  in  the  heart  of  an  ordinary  man   and 
without  the  sense  of  the  man  either !    For  who  that  thinks 
twice  about  it  would  make  a  world  where  everything  i: 
only  born  to  die?— and  for  no  other  use  at  all 
is  sheer  folly  and  wickedness  to  talk  to  me  of  a  God  !- 
God  if  there  were  one,  would  surely  be  far  above  tortur- 
ino-  the  creatures  He  has  made,  all  for  nothing ! 

And  the  priest  who  heard  this  blasphemous  and  savage 
tirade  on  the  part  of  Martine  Doucet,  retreated  from  her 
in  amazement  and  horror,  and  presently  gave  out  that 
she  was  possessed  of  a  devil,  and  was  unfit  to  be  admitted 
to  the  Holy  Sacrament.  Whereat,  when  she  heard  of  it, 
Martine  laughed  loudly  and  ferociously.  >f 

"  Look  you  '.—what  a  charitable  creature  a  priest  is ! 
she  cried—"  If  you  don't  do  the  things  he  considers  ex- 


The  Master-Christian.  67 

actly  right  and  fitting,  he  tells  your  neighbours  that  the 
devil  has  got  you ! — and  so  little  does  he  care  to  pick  you 
out  of  the  clutches  of  this  same  devil,  that  he  refuses  you 
the  Sacrament,  though  that  is  said  to  drive  away  Satan 
by  the  mere  touch  of  it !  But  wait  till  I  ask  to  have  the 
Sacrament  given  to  me! — it  will  be  time  enough  then  to 
refuse  it !  Many  a  fat  chicken  of  my  stock  has  the  rev- 
erend father  had  as  a  free  gift  to  boil  in  his  soup  maigre! " 
and  again  she  laughed  angrily — "  But  no  more  of  them 
does  he  get  to  comfort  his  stomach  while  doing  penance 
for  his  soul ! — the  hypocrite !  He  must  find  another  silly 
woman  to  cheat  with  his  stories  of  a  good  God  who  never 
does  anything  but  kill  and  curse  us  every  one! — he  has 
had  all  that  he  will  ever  get  out  of  Martine  Doucet !  " 

It  was  to  this  redoubtable  virago  that  Henri  and  Ba- 
bette  had  betaken  themselves  in  the  market  place  directly 
school  was  over.  She  always  held  the  same  stall  in  the 
same  position  on  market  days, — and  she  sat  under  her 
red  umbrella  on  a  rough  wooden  bench,  knitting  rapidly, 
now  keeping  an  eye  on  her  little  lame  son,  coiled  up  in  a 
piece  of  matting  beside  her,  and  anon  surveying  her 
stock-in-trade  of  ducks  and  geese  and  fowls,  which  were 
heaped  on  her  counter,  their  wrung  necks  drooping  limply 
from  the  board,  and  their  yellow  feet  tied  helplessly  to- 
gether and  shining  like  bits  of  dull  gold  in  the  warm 
light  of  the  September  sun.  She  listened  with  an  impas- 
sive countenance  while  Babette  poured  out  her  story  of  the 
great  Cardinal, — the  Cardinal  Felix  Bonpre,  whom  peo- 
ple said  was  a  saint, — how  he  had  come  unexpectedly  to 
stay  two  nights  at  the  Hotel  Poitiers, — how  "  petite 
maman  "  had  declared  he  was  so  good  that  even  angels 
might  visit  him, — how  kind  and  gentle  and  grand  he 
seemed, — "  Yes,"  said  Babette  somewhat  eagerly,  "  there 
was  no  doubt  that  he  looked  good, — and  we  have  told 
him  all  about  Fabien  and  he  has  promised  to  bless  him 
and  ask  Our  Lord  to  cure  his  lameness." 

"  Well,  and  of  what  use  is  that,  mignonne?  "  demanded 
Martine,  clicking  her  knitting-needles  violently  and  stoop- 
ing over  her  work  to  wink  away  the  sudden  tears  that 
had  risen  in  her  bold  brown  eyes  at  Babette's  enthusiastic 
desire  to  benefit  her  afflicted  child, — "  Asking  our  Lord 
is  poor  business, — you  may  ask  and  ask,  but  you  never 
get  answered !  " 


68  The  Master-Christian. 

Babette  hung  her  curly  brown  head  despondingly,  and 
looked  appealingly  at  her  brother.  Now  Henri  was  a  de- 
cided cynic; — but  his  sister  exercised  a  weird  fascination 
over  him, — a  sort  of  power  to  command  which  he  always 
felt  more  or  less  constrained  to  obey.  He  stared  solemnly 
at  Martine,  and  then  at  the  little  Fabien,  who,  half  rising 
from  his  mat,  had  listened  with  a  visibly  painful  interest 
to  Babette's  story. 

"  I  think  you  might  let  us  take  Fabien  and  see  if  a 
Cardinal  can  do  anything,"  he  said  with  a  kind  of  judicial 
air,  as  of  one  who,  though  considering  the  case  hopeless, 
had  no  objection  to  try  a  last  desperate  remedy.  '  This 
one  is  a  very  old  man,  and  he  must  know  a  good  deal. 
He  could  not  do  any  harm.  And  I  am  sure  Babette  would 
like  to  find  out  if  there  is  any  use  at  all  in  a  Cardinal.  I 
should  like  it  too.  You  see  we  went  into  Notre  Dame 
last  night, — Babette  and  I, — and  everything  was  dark, — 
all  the  candles  were  out  at  Our  Lady's  statue — and  we  had 
only  ten  centimes  between  us.  And  the  candles  are  ten 
centimes  each.  So  we  could  only  light  one.  But  we  lit 
that  one,  and  said  an  Ave  for  Fabien.  And  the  candle 
was  all  by  itself  in  the  Cathedral.  And  now  I  think  we 
ought  to  take  him  to  the  Cardinal." 

Martine  shook  her  head,  pursed  up  her  lips,  and  knitted 
more  violently  than  ever. 

"  It  is  all  no  use — no  use !  "  she  muttered —  '  There  is 
no  God, — or  if  there  is,  He  must  be  deaf  as  well  as  blind  !  " 

But  here  suddenly  the  weak  plaintive  voice  of  Fabien 
himself  piped  out — 

"  Oh,  mother,  let  me  go !  " 

Martine  looked  down  at  him. 

"  Let  thee  go  ?  To  see  the  Cardinal  ?  Why  he  is 
nought  but  an  old  man,  child,  as  helpless  as  any  of  us. 
What  dost  thou  think  he  can  do  for  thee  ?  " 

"  Nothing !  "  and  the  boy  clambered  up  on  his  crutch, 
and  stood  appealingly  before  his  mother,  his  fair  curls 
blowing  back  in  the  breeze, — "  But  I  should  like  to  see 
him.  Oh,  do  let  me  go !  " 

Babette  caught  him  by  the  hand. 

"Yes,  oh  yes,  Martine!"  she  exclaimed — "Let  him 
come  with  us !  " 

Martine  hesitated  a  moment  longer,  but  she  could 
never  altogether  resist  an  imploring  look  in  her  boy's 


The  Master-Christian.  69 

eyes,  or  refuse  any  request  he  made  of  her, — and  grad- 
ually  the  hard  lines  of  her  mouth  relaxed  into  a  half 
smile.  Babette  at  once  perceived  this,  and  eagerly  ac- 
cepted it  as  a  sign  that  she  had  gained  her  point. 

"Come,  Fabien!"  she  exclaimed  delightedly — "Thy 
mother  says  yes!  We  will  not  be  long  gone,  Martine! 
And  perhaps  we  will  bring  him  home  quite  well !  " 

Martine  shook  her  head  sorrowfully,  and  paused  for  a 
while  in  her  knitting  to  watch  the  three  children  crossing 
the  market-place  together,  Henri  supporting  her  little  son 
on  one  side,  Babette  on  the  other,  both  carefully  aiding 
his  slow  and  halting  movements  over  the  rough  cobbles 
of  the  uneven  pavement.  Then  as  they  all  turned  a  corner 
and  disappeared,  she  sighed,  and  a  couple  of  bright  tears 
splashed  clown  on  her  knitting.  But  the  next  moment 
her  eyes  were  as  bold  and  keen  and  defiant  as  ever  while 
she  stood  up  to  attend  to  two  or  three  customers  who 
just  then  approached  her  stall,  and  her  voice  was  as  shrill 
and  sharp  as  any  woman's  voice  could  be  in  the  noisy 
business  of  driving  a  bargain.  Having  disposed  of  three 
or  four  fat  geese  and  fowls  at  a  good  profit,  she  chinked 
and  counted  the  money  in  her  apron  pockets,  hummed  a 
tune,  and  looked  up  at  the  genial  sky  with  an  expression 
of  disfavour. 

"  Oh,  yes,  'tis  a  fine  day !  "  she  muttered, — "  And  the 
heavens  look  as  if  the  saints  lived  in  them ; — but  by  and 
by  the  clouds  will  come,  and  the  cold ! — the  sleet,  the 
snow,  the  frost  and  the  bitterness  of  winter ! — and  honest 
folk  will  starve  while  thieves  make  a  good  living! — that 
is  the  way  the  wise  God  arranges  things  in  this  world." 

She  gave  a  short  laugh  of  scorn,  and  resumed  the  click- 
ing of  her  needles,  not  raising  her  eyes  from  her  work 
even  when  her  neighbour,  the  old  woman  who  sold  vege- 
tables at  the  next  stall,  ventured  to  address  her. 

"  Where  is  thy  unfortunate  boy  gone  to,  Martine  ?  " 
she  enquired, — "  Is  it  wise  to  let  him  be  with  the  Patoux 
children  ?  They  are  strong  and  quick  and  full  of  mischief, 
— they  might  do  him  fresh  injury  in  play  without  mean- 
ing it." 

"  I  will  trust  them,"  answered  Martine  curtly, — "  They 
have  taken  him  to  see  a  Cardinal." 

"  A  Cardinal !  "  and  the  old  woman  craned  her  withered 
neck  forward  in  amazement  and  began  to  laugh  feebly, — 


yo  The  Master-Christian. 

"Nomde  Jesus!  That  is  strange!  What  does  the  Car- 
dinal want  with  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Martine  gruffly — "  It  seems  that  he 
is  an  old  man  who  is  kind  to  children,  and  the  girl  Ba- 
bette  has  a  fancy  to  get  his  blessing  for  my  Fabien, — 
that  is  all." 

"  And  that  is  little  enough,"  responded  the  old  vege- 
table-vendor, still  laughing,  or  rather  chuckling  hoarsely 
— "  A  blessing  is  not  worth  much  nowadays,  is  it  Alar- 
tine?  It  never  puts  an  extra  ounce  of  meat  in  the  pot-au- 
feu, — and  yet  it  is  all  one  gets  out  of  the  priests  for  all 
the  prayers  and  the  praise.  Last  time  I  went  to  confes- 
sion I  accused  myself  of  the  sin  of  envy.  I  said  '  Look 
here,  my  father,  I  am  a  widow  and  very  old ;  and  I  have 
rheumatism  in  all  my  bones,  and  I  have  only  a  bit  of 
matting  to  sleep  on  at  home,  and  if  I  have  a  bad  day 
with  the  market  I  can  buy  no  food.  And  there  is  a  woman 
living  near  me  who  has  a  warm  house,  with  a  stove  in  it, 
— and  blankets  to  cover  her,  and  a  bit  of  money  put  by, 
and  I  envy  her  her  blankets  and  her  stove  and  her  house 
and  her  money.  Is  that  a  sin  ? '  And  he  said  it  was  a 
sin;  but  that  he  would  absolve  me  from  it  if  I  said  ten 
Paters  and  ten  Aves  before  Our  Lady  of  Bon-Secours. 
And  then  he  gave  me  his  blessing, — but  no  blankets  and 
no  stove  and  no  money.  And  I  have  not  said  ten  Paters 
and  Aves  yet,  because  my  bones  have  ached  too  much  all 
the  week  for  me  to  walk  up  the  hill  to  Bon-Secours.  And 
the  blessing  has  been  no  use  to  me  at  all." 

"  Nor  is  it  likely  to  be !  "  scoffed  Martine — "  I  thought 
you  had  given  up  all  that  Church-nonsense  long  ago." 

"  Nay — nay — not  altogether," — murmured  the  old  wo- 
man timidly — "  I  am  very  old, — and  one  never  knows — 
there  may  be  truth  in  some  of  it.  It  is  the  burning  and 
the  roasting  in  hell  that  I  think  of, — you  know  that  is 
very  likely  to  happen,  Martine ! — because  you  see,  in  this 
life  we  have  nothing  but  trouble, — so  whoever  made  us 
must  like  to  see  us  suffering; — it  must  be  a  pleasure  to 
God,  and  so  it  is  sure  to  go  on  and  on  always.  And  I  am 
afraid ! — and  if  a  candle  now  and  then  to  St.  Joseph  would 
help  matters,  I  am  not  the  one  to  grudge  it, — it  is  better  to 
burn  a  candle  than  burn  one's  self !  " 

Martine  laughed  loudly,  but  made  no  answer.  She 
could  not  waste  her  time  arguing  against  the  ridiculous 


The  Master-Christian.  71 

superstitions  of  an  old  creature  who  was  so  steeped  h.< 
ignorance  as  to  think  that  a  votive  candle  could  rescue 
her  soul  from  a  possible  hell.  She  went  on  knitting  in  si- 
lence till  a  sudden  shadow  came  between  her  and  the 
sunlight,  and  a  girl's  voice,  harsh,  yet  with  a  certain 
broken  sweetness  in  it,  said — 

"  A  fine  morning's  killing,  aye !  All  their  necks  wrung, 
— all  dead  birds !  Once  they  could  fly — fly  and  swim ! 
Fly  and  swim !  All  dead  now — and  sold  cheap  in  the 
open  market !  " 

A  shrill  laugh  finished  this  outburst,  but  Martine 
knew  who  it  was  that  spoke,  and  maintained  her  equa- 
nimity. 

"  Is  that  you  again,  Marguerite  ?  "  she  said,  not  un- 
kindly— "  You  will  tire  yourself  to  death  wandering  about 
the  streets  all  day." 

Marguerite  Valmond,  "  la  folle  "  as  she  was  called  by 
the  townsfolk,  shook  her  head  and  smiled  cunningly.  She 
was  a  tall  girl,  with  black  hair  disordered  and  falling 
loosely  about  her  pale  face, — her  eyes  were  dark  and 
lustrous,  but  wild,  and  with  a  hunted  expression  in  them, 
— and  her  dress  was  composed  of  4the  strangest  remnants 
of  oddly  assorted  materials  and  colours  pinned  about  her 
without  any  order  or  symmetry,  the  very  idea  of  decent 
clothing  being  hardly  considered,  as  her  bosom  was  half 
exposed  and  her  legs  were  bare.  She  wore  no  head-cov- 
ering, and  her  whole  aspect  was  that  of  one  who  had 
suddenly  awakened  from  a  hideous  dream  and  was  striv- 
ing to  forget  its  horrors. 

"  I  shall  never  be  tired !  "  she  said — "  If  I  could  be 
tired  I  should  sleep, — but  I  never  sleep !  I  am  looking  for 
him,  you  know! — it  was  at  the  fair  I  lost  him — you  re- 
member the  great  fair  ?  And  when  I  find  him  I  shall  kill 
him !  It  is  quite  easy  to  kill — you  take  a  sharp  glittering 
thing,  so !  "  and  she  snatched  up  a  knife  that  lay  on  Mar- 
tine's  counter — "  And  you  plunge  it — so !  "  and  she  struck 
it  down  with  singular  fury  through  the  breast  of  one  of 
the  "  dead  birds  "  which  were  Martine's  stock-in-trade. 
Then  she  threw  the  knife  on  the  ground — rubbed  her 
hands  together,  tossed  her  head,  and  laughed  again — 
'  That  is  how  I  shall  do  it  when  I  meet  him !  " 

Martine  said  nothing.  She  simply  removed  the  one 
stabbed  bird  from  among  the  others,  and  setting  it  aside, 


72  The  Master-Christian. 

picked  up  the  knife  from  the  ground  and  went  on  knit- 
ting as  calmly  as  ever. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  the  Archbishop,"  proceeded  Mar- 
guerite, tossing  back  her  dishevelled  locks  and  making  one 
or  two  fantastic  dance-steps  as  she  spoke — "  The  great 
Archbishop  of  this  wonderful  city  of  Rouen !  I  want  to 
ask  him  how  it  happened  that  God  made  men.  It  was  a 
mistake  which  He  must  be  sorry  for!  The  Archbishop 
knows  everything ; — he  will  tell  me  about  it.  Ah ! — what 
a  beautiful  mistake  is  the  Archbishop  himself! — and  how 
soon  women  find  it  out !  Bon  jour,  Martine !  " 

"  Bon  jour,  Marguerite !  "  responded  Martine  quietly. 

Singing  to  herself,  the  crazed  gin  sauntered  oft.  Sev- 
eral of  the  market  women  looked  after  her. 

"  She  killed  her  child,  they  say,"  muttered  the  old  veg- 
etable-seller— "  But  no  one  knows 

"  Sh — sh — sh !  "  hissed  Martine  angrily — "  What  one 
does  not  know  one  should  not  say.  Mayhap  there  never 
was  a  child  at  all.  Whatever  the  wrong  was,  she  has  suf- 
fered for  it ; — and  if  the  man  who  led  her  astray  ever 
comes  nigh  her,  his  life  is  not  worth  a  centime." 

"  Rough  justice!  "  said  one  of  the  market  porters,  who 
had  just  paused  close  by  to  light  his  pipe. 

"Aye,  rough  justice!"  echoed  Martine — "When  jus- 
tice is  not  given  to  the  people,  the  people  take  it  for 
themselves !  And  if  a  man  deals  ill  by  a  woman,  he  has 
murdered  her  as  surely  as  if  he  had  put  a  knife  through 
her; — and  'tis  but  even  payment  when  he  gets  the  knife 
into  himself.  Things  in  this  life  are  too  easy  for  men 
and  too  hard  for  women;  men  make  the  laws  for  their 
own  convenience,  and  never  a  thought  of  us  at  all  in  the 
making.  They  are  a  selfish  lot !  " 

The  porter  laughed  carelessly,  and  having  lit  his  pipe 
to  his  satisfaction  went  his  way. 

A  great  many  more  customers  now  came  to  Martine's 
stall,  and  for  upwards  of  an  hour  there  was  shrill  argu- 
ment and  driving  of  bargains  till  she  had  pretty  well 
cleared  her  counter  of  all  its  stock.  Then  she  sat  down 
again  and  looked  to  right  and  left  of  the  market-place 
for  any  sign  of  the  Patoux  children  returning  with  her 
little  son,  but  there  was  not  a  srlimps.e  of  them  anywhere. 

"  I  wonder  what  they  are  doing !  "  she  thought — "  And 
I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  Cardinal  it  is  they  have  taken 


The  Master-Christian.  73 

the  child  to  see !  These  great  princes  of  the  Church  care 
nothing  for  the  poor, — the  very  Pope  allows  half  Italy 
to  starve  while  he  shuts  himself  up  with  his  treasures 
in  the  Vatican ; — what  should  a  great  Cardinal  care  for 
my  poor  little  Fabien !  If  the  stories  of  the  Christ  were 
true,  and  one  could  only  take  the  child  to  Him,  then  in- 
deed there  might  be  a  chance  of  cure ! — but  it  is  all  a  lie, 
— and  the  worst  of  the  lie  is  that  it  would  give  us  all  so 
much  comfort  and  happiness  if  it  were  only  true !  It  is 
like  holding  out  a  rope  to  a  drowning  man  and  snatching 
it  away  again.  And  when  the  rope  goes,  the  sooner  one 
sinks  under  the  waves  the  better !  " 


VI. 

THE  Cardinal  was  still  in  his  room  alone  with  the  boy 
Manuel,  when  Madame  Patoux,  standing  at  her  door 
under  the  waving  tendrils  of  the  "  creeping  jenny  "  and 
shading  her  eyes  from  the  radiance  of  the  sun,  saw  her 
children  approaching  with  Fabien  Doucet  between  them. 

"  Little  wretches  that  they  are !  "  she  murmured— 
"  Once  let  them  get  an  idea  into  their  heads  and  nothing 
will  knock  it  out !  Now  I  shall  have  to  tell  Monseigneur 
that  they  are  here, — what  an  impertinence  it  seems  ! — and 
yet  he  is  so  gentle,  and  has  such  a  good  heart  that  perhaps 
he  will  not  mind  .  .  . 

Here  she  broke  off  her  soliloquy  as  the  children  came 
up,  Babette  eagerly  demanding  to  know  where  the  Car- 
dinal was.  Madame  Patoux  set  her  arms  akimbo  and 
surveyed  the  little  group  of  three  half-pityingly,  half  de- 
risively. 

"  The  Cardinal  has  not  left  his  room  since  breakfast,' 
she  answered — "  He  is  playing  Providence  already  to  a 
poor  lad  lost  in  the  streets,  and  for  that  matter  lost  in  the 
world,  without  father  or  mother  to  look  after  him, — he 
was  found  in  Notre  Dame  last  night,— 

"  Why,  mother,"  interrupted  Henri — "  how  could  a 
boy  get  into  Notre  Dame  last  night?  When  Babette  and 
I  went  there,  nobody  was  in  the  church  at  all, — and  we 
left  one  candle  burning  all  alone  in  the  darkness, — and 
when  we  came  out  the  Suisse  swore  at  us  for  having  gone 
in,  and  then  locked  the  door." 

"  Well,  if  one  must  be  so  exact,  the  boy  was  not  found 
actually  in  Notre  Dame,  obstinate  child,"  returned  his 
mother  impatiently — "  It  happened  at  midnight, — the  good 
Cardinal  heard  someone  crying  and  went  to  see  who  it 
was.  And  he  found  a  poor  boy  outside  the  Cathedral 
weeping  as  if  his  heart  were  breaking,  and  leaning  his 
head  against  the  hard  door  for  a  pillow.  And  he  brought 
him  back  and  gave  him  his  own  bed  to  sleep  in; — and 
the  lad  is  with  him  now." 


74 


The  Master-Christian.  75 

Little  Fabien  Doucet,  leaning  on  his  crutch,  looked 
up  with  interest. 

"  Is  he  lame  like  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  Xo,  child,"  replied  Madame  compassionately — "  He 
is  straight  and  strong.  In  truth  a  very  pretty  boy." 

Fabien  sighed.    Babette  made  a  dash  forward. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  him !  "  she  said — "  And  I  will  call 
Monseigneur." 

"  Babette !    How  dare  you  !    Babette !  " 

But  Babette  had  scurried  defiantly  past  her  mother,  and 
breathless  with  a  sense  of  excitement  and  disobedience 
intermingled,  had  burst  into  the  Cardinal's  room  without 
knocking.  There  on  the  threshold  she  paused, — some- 
what afraid  at  her  own  boldness, — and  startled  too  at  the 
sight  of  Manuel,  who  was  seated  near  the  window  oppo- 
site the  Cardinal,  and  who  turned  his  deep  blue  eyes  upon 
her  with  a  look  of  enquiry.  The  Cardinal  himself  rose  and 
turned  to  greet  her,  and  as  the  wilful  little  maid  met  his 
encouraging  glance  and  noted  the  benign  sweetness  of 
his  expression  she  trembled, — and  losing  nerve,  began  to 
cry. 

"  Monseigneur  .  .  .  Monseigneur  .  .  .  "  she  stam- 
mered. 

"  Yes,  my  child, — what  is  it?  "  said  the  Cardinal  kindly 
— "  Do  not  be  afraid, — I  am  at  your  service.  You  have 
brought  the  little  friend  you  spoke  to  me  of  yesterday?  " 

Babette  peeped  shyly  at  him  through  her  tears,  and 
drooping  her  head,  answered  with  a  somewhat  smothered 
"  Yes." 

"  That  is  well, — I  will  go  to  him  at  once," — and  the 
Cardinal  paused  a  moment  looking  at  Manuel,  who  as  if 
responding  to  his  unuttered  wish,  rose  and  approached 
him — "  And  you,  Manuel — you  will  also  come.  You  see, 
my  child,"  went  on  the  good  prelate  addressing  Babette, 
the  while  he  laid  a  gently  caressing  hand  on  her  hair — 
"  Another  little  friend  has  come  to  me  who  is  also  very 
sad, — and  though  he  is  not  crippled  or  ill,  he  is  all  alone 
in  the  world,  which  is,  for  one  so  young,  a  great  hard- 
ship. You  must  be  sorry  for  him  too,  as  well  as  for  your 
own  poor  playmate." 

But  Babette  was  seized  with  an  extraordinary  timidity, 
and  had  much  ado  to  keep  back  the  tears  that  rose  in  her 
throat  and  threatened  to  break  out  in  a  burst  of  convul- 


76  The  Master-Christian. 

sive  sobbing.  She  did  not  know  in  the  least  what  was 
the  matter  with  her, — she  was  only  conscious  of  an  im- 
mense confusion  and  shyness  which  were  quite  new  to 
her  ordinarily  bold  and  careless  nature.  Manuel's  face 
frightened  yet  fascinated  her ;  he  looked,  she  thought,  like 
the  beautiful  angel  of  the  famous  stained  glass  "  Annun- 
ciation "  window  in  the  crumbling  old  church  of  St. 
Maclou.  She  dared  not  speak  to  him, — she  could  only 
steal  furtive  glances  at  him  from  under  the  curling  length 
of  her  dark  tear-wet  lashes, — and  when  the  Cardinal  took 
her  by  the  hand  and  descended  the  staircase  with  her  to 
the  passage  where  the  crippled  Fabien  waited,  she  could 
not  forbear  glancing  back  every  now  and  then  over  her 
shoulder  at  the  slight,  supple,  almost  aerial  figure  of  the 
boy,  who,  noiselessly,  and  with  a  light  gliding  step,  fol- 
lowed. And  now  Madame  Patoux  came  forward ; — a 
bulky,  anxious  figure  of  gesticulation  and  apology. 

"  Alas,  Monseigneur !  "  she  began  plaintively—  "  It  is 
too  shameful  that  your  quiet  should  be  disturbed  in  this 
way,  but  if  you  could  only  know  the  obstinacy  of  these 
children !  Ah  yes ! — if  you  knew  all,  you  would  pity 
their  parents ! — you  would  indeed !  And  this  is  the  un- 
happy little  creature  they  have  brought  to  you,  Mon- 
seigneur,— a  sad  sight  truly ! — and  afflicted  sorely  by  the 
will  of  God, — though  one  could  hardly  say  that  God  was 
anywhere  about  when  he  fell,  poor  baby,  from  his 
mother's  cart  and  twisted  his  body  awry, — one  would 
rather  think  the  devil  was  in  the  business,  asking  your 
pardon,  Monseigneur ;  for  surely  the  turning  of  a  human 
creature  into  a  useless  lump  has  little  of  good,  or  divine 
kindness  in  it !  Now  make  thy  best  bow  to  the  Cardinal," 
went  on  Madame  with  a  gasp  for  breath  in  her  voluble 
speech,  addressing  the  little  cripple — "  And  it  is  a  pity 
thou  hast  no  time  to  confess  thy  sins  and  take  the  Sacra- 
ment before  so  holy  a  man  lay  hands  on  thee !  " 

But  at  these  words  Cardinal  Bonpre  turned  to  her  with 
a  reproving  gesture. 

"  I  pray  you  do  not  call  me  holy,  my  daughter,"  he 
said  earnestly,  the  old  shadows  of  pain  and  protest  gath- 
ering in  his  eyes,  "  Nothing  can  make  me  more  sorrowful 
than  to  hear  such  an  epithet  applied  to  one  who  is  so  full 
of  errors  and  sins  as  myself.  Try  to  look  upon  me  just 
as  I  am, — merely  an  old  man,  nearing  the  grave,  with 


The  Master-Christian.  77 

nothing  of  merit  in  me  beyond  the  desire  to  serve  our 
Lord  and  obey  His  commands, — a  desire  which  is  far 
stronger  than  the  practical  force  to  obey  it.  Much  that 
I  would  do  I  cannot ;  and  in  much  that  I  attempt  I  fail. 
Come  to  me,  my  child." 

Here,  interrupting  himself,  he  bent  down,  and  putting 
his  arms  tenderly  round  Fabien,  lifted  him  bodily,  crutch 
and  all,  and  carried  him  into  the  next  room,  and  as  he 
did  so,  the  young  Manuel  glided  in  before  him,  and  stood 
beside  his  chair,  his  blue  eyes  shining  with  a  soft  and 
eager  light  of  interest,  and  a  little  smile  lifting  the  deli- 
cate upper  curve  of  his  lips  as  he  looked  on.  Fabien 
meanwhile,  perched  on  the  Cardinal's  knee,  and  held 
close  in  the  Cardinal's  arms,  was  not  at  all  frightened, — 
he  simply  sat,  contented,  gazing  up  confidingly  at  the 
pale  venerable  face  above  him.  Henri  and  Babette,  hav- 
ing as  they  considered,  got  their  way,  stayed  at  the  door 
half  afraid  to  enter,  and  their  mother  peered  over  their 
heads  at  the  little  scene  in  mingled  awe  and  curiosity. 

"  My  poor  child,"  then  said  the  Cardinal  gently — "  I 
want  you  to  understand  quite  clearly  how  sorry  I  am  for 
you,  and  how  willingly  I  would  do  anything  in  the  world 
to  make  you  a  strong,  well,  and  happy  boy.  But  you 
must  not  fancy  that  I  can  cure  you.  I  told  your  little 
friends  yesterday  that  I  was  not  a  saint,  such  as  you  read 
about  in  story-books, — and  that  I  could  not  work  mira- 
cles, because  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  so  filled  with  the 
Divine  Spirit  as  to  heal  with  a  touch  like  the  better  serv- 
ants of  our  Blessed  Lord.  Nevertheless  I  firmly  believe 
that  if  God  saw  that  it  was  good  for  you  to  be  strong  and 
well,  He  would  find  ways  to  make  you  so.  -Sometimes 
sickness  and  sorrow -are  sent  to  us  for  our  advantage, — 
sometimes  even  death  comes  to  us  for  our  larger  benefit, 
though  w€  may  not  understand  how  it  is  so  till  after- 
wards. But  in  Heaven  everything  will  be  made  clear; 
and  even  our  griefs  will  be  turned  into  joys, — do  you  un- 
derstand ?  " 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Fabien  gravely,  but  two  large  tears 
welled  up  in  his  plaintive  eyes  as  the  faint  glimmer  of 
hope  he  had  encouraged  as  to  the  possibility  of  his  being 
miraculously  cured  by  the  touch  of  a  saintly  Cardinal,  ex- 
pired in  the  lonely  darkness  of  his  little  afflicted  soul. 

"  That  is  well,"  continued  the  Cardinal  kindly — "  And 


78  The  Master-Christian. 

now,  since  it  is  so  difficult  for  you  to  kneel,  you  shall  stay 
where  you  are  in  my  arms, — so !  " — and  he  set  him  on  his 
knee  in  a  position  of  even  greater  comfort  than  before. 
•'  You  shall  simply  shut  your  eyes,  and  clasp  your  little 
hands  together  as  I  put  them  here," — and  as  he  spoke  he 
crossed  the  child's  hands  on  his  silver  crucifix — "  And 
I  will  ask  our  Lord  to  come  and  make  you  well, — for  of 
myself  I  can  do  nothing." 

"At  these  words  Henri  and  Babette  glanced  at  each  other 
questioningly,  and  then  as  if  simultaneously  moved  by 
some  inexplicable  emotion,  dropped  on  their  knees, — their 
mother,  too  stout  and  unwieldy  to  do  this  with  either 
noiselessness  or  satisfaction  to  herself,  was  contented  to 
bend  her  head  as  low  as  she  could  get  it.  Manuel  re- 
mained standing.  Leaning  against  the  Cardinal's  chair, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  crippled  Fabien,  he  had  the  aspect 
of  a  young  Angel  of  compassion,  whose  sole  immortal 
desire  was  to  lift  the  burden  of  sorrow  and  pain  from  the 
lives  of  suffering  humanity.  And  after  a  minute  or  two 
passed  in  silent  meditation,  the  Cardinal  laid  his  hands 
tenderly  on  Fabien's  fair  curly  head  and  prayed  aloud. 
"  Oh  merciful  Christ !  Most  pitying  and  gentle  Re- 
deemer!— to  Whom  in  the  days  of  Thy  sacred  life  on 
earth,  the  sick  and  suffering  and  lame  and  blind  were 
brought,  and  never  sent  away  unhealed  or  uncomforted ; 
consider,  we  beseech  Thee,  the  sufferings  of  this  Thy  little 
child,  deprived  of  all  the  joys  which  Thou  hast  made  so 
sweet  for  those  who  are  strong  and  straight  in  their 
youth,  and  who  have  no  ailment  to  depress  their  courage 
or  to  quench  the  ardour  of  their  aspiring  souls.  Look 
compassionately  upon  him,  oh  gentle  King  and  Master  of 
all  such  children! — and  even  as  Thou  wert  a  child  Thy- 
self, be  pleased  to  heal  him  of  his  sad  infirmity.  For, 
if  Thou  wilt,  Thou  canst  make  this  bent  body  straight 
and  these  withered  muscles  strong, — from  death  itself 
Thou  canst  ordain  life,  and  nothing  is  impossible  to  Thee ! 
But  above  all  things,  gracious  Saviour,  we  do  pray  Thee 
so  to  lift  and  strengthen  this  child's  soul,  that  if  it  is  des- 
tined he  should  still  be  called  upon  to  bear  his  present  pain 
and  trouble,  grant  to  him  such  perfection  in  his  inward 
spirit  that  he  may  prove  worthy  to  be  counted  among 
Thy  angels  in  the  bright  Hereafter.  To  Thy  care,  and 
to  Thy  comfort,  and  to  Thy  healing,  great  Master,  we 


The  Master-Christian.  79 

commend  him,  trusting  him  entirely  to  Thy  mercy,  with 
perfect  resignation  to  Thy  Divine  Will.  For  the  sake  and 
memory  of  Thy  most  holy  childhood  mercifully  help  and 
bless  this  child !  Amen  !  " 

A  deep  silence  ensued.  Only  the  slow  ticking  of  the 
big  old-fashioned  clock  in  Madame  Patoux's  kitchen, 
which  was  next  door  to  the  room  they  were  all  in,  could 
be  distinctly  heard.  Henri  and  Babette  were  the  first  to 
stir.  They  got  up  from  their  knees,  brushed  the  dust  of 
the  floor  from  their  clothes,  and  stared  curiously  at  Fa- 
bien.  Was  a  miracle  going  to  happen?  Fabien,  how- 
ever— still  resting  against  the  Cardinal's  breast,  with  his 
meagre  little  hands  clasped  tight  on  the  Cardinal's  cruci- 
fix, kept  his  eyes  solemnly  shut  and  gave  no  sign,  till  the 
Cardinal  himself  gently  moved  him  and  set  him  down. 
Then  he  glanced  around  him  bewilderingly,  tottered,  and 
would  have  fallen  had  he  not  been  given  his  little  crutch 
for  support.  Very  pathetic  was  the  smile  which  then 
quivered  on  his  pale  lips, — very  doleful  was  the  shake  of 
his  head  as  he  prepared  to  hobble  away. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Monseigneur,"  he  murmured 
gently — "  I  felt  almost  cured  while  you  were  praying, — 
but  I  am  afraid  it  is  no  use !  You  see  there  are  so  many 
miserable  people  in  the  world, — many  cripples,  too, — I  am 
not  the  only  one.  Our  Lord  must  have  enough  to  do  if 
He  is  asked  to  heal  them  all !  But  I  am  sure  you  have 
done  everything  you  can  for  me,  and  I  am  grateful  to  you, 
Monseigneur.  Good-bye !  " 

"  Good-bye,  my  child ! "  and  the  Cardinal,  strongly 
moved  by  the  sight  of  the  little  helpless  twisted  figure, 
and  painfully  impressed  too  by  the  sense  of  his  own  en- 
tire powerlessness  to  remove  the  cause  of  the  trouble, 
bent  down  and  kissed  him — "  Believe  me,  if  the  giving  of 
my  own  life  could  make  you  strong,  you  should  have  that 
life  willingly.  May  God  bless  and  heal  you  1 " 

At  that  moment  Manuel  moved  from  the  place  he  had 
kept  near  the  Cardinal's  chair.  With  a  light,  eager  step 
forward,  he  went  up  to  -the  little  cripple,  and  putting  his 
arms  round  him  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  little  brother !  "  he  said  smiling — 
"  Do  not  be  sad !  Have  patience !  In  all  the  universe, 
among  all  the  millions  and  millions  of  worlds,  there  is 
never  a  pure  and  unselfish  prayer  that  the  great  good 


8o  The  Master-Christian. 

God  does  not  answer !  Be  sure  of  that !  Take  courage, 
dear  little  brother !  You  will  soon  be  well !  " 

Fabien  stared,  half  amazed,  at  the  gentle  young  face 
that  shone  upon  him  with  such  an  expression  of  hope  and 
tenderness. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  said — "  And  you  are  just  a 
boy  yourself, — so  you  can  perhaps  guess  how  it  must  feel 
not  to  be  like  other  boys  who  can  run  and  leap  and  walk 
for  miles  and  miles  through  the  fields  and  the  green  shady 
forests  where  the  birds  sing, — and  where  there  is  so  much 
to  see  and  think  about, — when  one  is  lame  one  cannot  go 
far  you  know — and  then  there  is  my  mother — she  is  very 
sad  about  me, — and  it  will  be  hard  for  her  if  I  live  to  be 
a  man  and  still  can  do  nothing  to  help  her  .  .  .  ' 

His  weak  voice  broke,  and  two  large  tears  filled  his 
eyes  and  brimmed  over,  trickling  slowly  down  his  pale 
cheeks.  Manuel  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  encour- 
agingly. 

"  Do  not  cry!  "  he  said  gently — "  Believe  in  what  I  say 
— that  you  will  soon  be  quite  well.  The  Cardinal  has 
prayed  for  you  as  only  good  men  can  pray, — without  one 
selfish  thought,  in  faith  and  deep  humility, — such  prayers 
draw  angels  down !  Be  patient — be  brave !  Believe  in 
the  best  and  the  best  will  come !  " 

His  words  rang  out  with  a  sweet  convincing  clearness, 
and  even  Cardinal  Bonpre  felt  a  sense  of  comfort  as  he 
listened.  The  little  cripple  smiled  through  his  tears. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  murmured — "  I  will  hope  and  I  will  be- 
lieve! I  am  always  sure  God  is  near  us,  though  my 
mother  thinks  He  must  be  very  far  away.  Yes, — I  will 
be  as  brave  as  I  can.  You  are  very  good  to  me, — I  know 
you  understand  just  how  I  feel,  and  I  thank  you  very 
much.  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  yourself  some  day. 
Good-bye ! "  Then,  turning  to  Henri  and  Babette  he 
asked,  "  Shall  we  go  now?  " 

Henri's  brows  were  drawn  together  in  a  dark  frown. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  replied—"  I  suppose  there's  noth- 
ing more  to  be  done?  "  This,  with  a  somewhat  sarcastic 
air  of  inquiry  directed  at  the  Cardinal,  who  met  his  bold 
bright  glance,  mildly  and  half  compassionately. 

"  Nothing  more  my  child  " — he  answered — "  Did  you 
expect  a  miracle  ?  I  told  you  from  the  first  that  I  was  ^o 
saint, — I  can  do  no  good  unless  our  Lord  wills  it." 


The  Master-Christian.  81 

"  The  Pope  believes  in  miracles  " — said  Henri,  flushing 
as  he  spoke  with  the  heat  of  a  sudden  angry  emotion — 
"  But  only  those  that  are  performed  on  his  own  behalf ! 
He  thinks  that  God's  chief  business  is  to  look  after  him !  " 

A  silence  ensued, — whether  of  horror  or  embarrass- 
ment could  hardly  be  determined.  The  Cardinal  said 
nothing, — Babette  trembled  a  little, — what  a  dreadful  boy 
Henri  really  was,  she  thought ! — Madame  Patoux  shut  up 
her  eyes  in  horror,  crossed  herself  devoutly  as  against 
some  evil  spirit,  and  'was  about  to  speak,  when  Henri, 
nothing  daunted,  threw  himself  into  the  breach  again, 
and  turned  with  a  fiery  vehemence  of  appeal  towards  the 
young  and  thoughtful-looking  Manuel. 

"It's  just  as  I  say!"  he  declared  hotly — "The  Pope 
is  taken  as  much  care  of  as  if  he  were  a  peach  wrapped  in 
wadding!  Was  Christ  taken  care  of?  No, — He  suf- 
fered all  sorts  of  hardships  and  at  last  was  crucified !  The 
Pope  shuts  himself  up  in  the  Vatican  with  millions  and 
millions  of  money's  worth,  while  thousands  of  people 
around  him  in  Italy  alone,  are  starving  and  miserable. 
Christ  would  not  allow  such  a  thing.  Christ  said  '  Sell 
half  that  thou  hast  and  give  to  the  poor ' — now  the  Pope 
doesn't  sell  half,  nor  a  quarter,  nor  a  bit  of  a  quarter !  He 
takes  all  he  can  get  and  keeps  it!  And  yet  God  is  sup- 
posed to  work  miracles  for  an  old  man  like  that ! — Oh  I 
know  all  about  it !  Boys  read  the  newspapers  as  well  as 
grown  men !  " 

"  Henri !  "  gasped  Madame  Patoux,  extending  her  fat 
arm  and  hand  with  a  solemn  gesture  of  reproach — 
"  Jrienn,  thou  art  mad  .  .  .  wicked  ..." 

But  Henri  went  on  unheedingly,  still  addressing 
Manuel. 

"  Xow  you  are  a  boy,  and  I  daresay  you  can  read  and 
think, — you  are  about  my  age  I  suppose.  And  you  are 
left  all  alone  in  the  world,  with  nobody  to  care  for  you, 
— well,  do  you  think  that  is  well-arranged? — And  do  you 
think  there  is  any  sense  in  believing  in  a  God  who  does 
such  a  lot  of  cruel  things?  And  when  He  won't  help  us 
ever  so  little  ?  How  can  people  be  good  if  they  keep  on 
praying  and  praying,  and  hoping  and  hoping,  and  work- 
ing and  working — and  yet  nothing  comes  of  it  all  but 
trouble  and  pain  and  loss  .  .  .  "  He  stopped  for  sheer 
lack  of  breath  to  go  on. 


82  The  Master-Christian. 

Manuel  looked  at  him  quietly,  full  in  the  eyes. 

"  Yes,  it  is  hard !  "  he  said — "  Very  hard !  But  it  is 
not  God  who  does  any  cruel  thing.  God  is  Love, — and 
the  Spirit  of  Love  cannot  be  cruel.  It  is  the  people  of 
the  world  themselves, — the  people  who  injure  each  other 
in  thought,  word  and  dee'd, — and  who  have  no  spirit  of 
love  in  them, — these  invite  sorrow  and  pain,  and  rush 
upon  misfortune.  Then  they  blame  God  for  it !  Ah,  it  is 
easy  to  blame  God ! — so  much  easier  than  to  blame  one's 
self !  And  if  you  ask  me  if  it  is  well  for  those  who  suffer 
cruel  things  to  still  believe  in  God,  I  say  yes,  I  do  think 
it  well, — for  it  is  the  only  chance  they  have  of  finding 
the  right  way  of  life  after  much  wandering  in  the  wrong/' 

His  sweet  voice  fell  on  the  silence  like  a  soft  chime, 
and  Henri,  for  no  particular  reason  that  he  could  give, 
felt  suddenly  abashed.  Cardinal  Bonpre  listened  to  the 
words  of  this  strange  foundling  with  a  singular  emotion 
— an  emotion  too  deep  to  find  any  outlet  in  speech.  Bab- 
ette  raised  her  brown  trustful  eyes,  and  timidly  ventured 
to  put  in  her  opinion — 

"  Yes  " — she  said — "  I  am  sure  that  is  true.  You  see 
Henri  " — with  a  wise  glance  at  her  brother — "  you  see  it 
is  always  the  same, — when  anyone  suffers  something  un- 
fortunate, there  is  certain  to  be  some  cause  for  it.  Now 
everybody  says  that  if  poor  Martine  had  not  put  Fabien 
in  the  cart  to  save  herself  the  trouble  of  holding  him  on 
her  knee,  he  would  not  have  tumbled  out  and  been  hurt. 
That  was  the  beginning  of  it.  And  that  was  not  God's 
fault.  Come  Fabien! — we'll  take  you  back  now." 

At  this,  Madame  Patoux  started  from  her  stricken  con- 
dition of  horrified  dumbness  into  speech  and  action. 

"  Ah  yes,  it  is  indeed  time ! "  she  exclaimed — 
"  Enough  trouble  has  been  given,  I  am  sure,  to  Mon- 
seigneur,  and  if  such  a  prayer  as  his  does  not  reach 
Heaven,  why  then  there  is  no  Heaven  at  all,  and  it  is  no 
good  bothering  ourselves  about  it.  And  what  things  have 
been  said  by  my  son! — my  son! — against  the  Holy 
Father!  Ah,  mon  Dieu !  The  wickedness  of  it! — The 
horror !  And  if  thou  learnest  such  blasphemy  from  news- 
papers, Henri,  thou  shalt  not  read  them— 

"Who  is  to  prevent  me?"  demanded  Henri,  his  eyes 
sparkling  defiantly. 

"  Hush — hush    my    child !  "    interposed    the    Cardinal 


The  Master-Christian.  83 

quietly  "  Nothing  indeed  can  prevent  thee, — no  one  can 
hinder  thee  from  walking  the  world  according  to  thine 
own  will  and  direction.  Thou  must  take  good  and  evil 
as  they  come,  and  strive  thy  best  to  discern  between  them 
— and  if  the  love  of  God  cannot  help  thee — well ! — per- 
chance the  love  of  thy  mother  may !  " 

There  was  a  pause.  Henri's  head  drooped,  and  quick 
tears  rilled  his  eyes.  He  said  nothing  further,  but  turned 
to  assist  Babette  in  guiding  the  little  Fabien's  hesitating 
steps  as  he  hobbled  from  the  room.  The  emotional 
Madame  Patoux  choked  back  a  rising  sob. 

"  God  bless  you  Monseigneur !  "  she  murmured — 
"  Henri  will  not  forget  those  words — the  lad  has  a  hasty 
temper,  but  a  good  heart — yes,  believe  me — a  good 
heart " 

"  That  I  am  sure  of  " — responded  the  Cardinal — "  He 
is  quick  and  intelligent — and  seeks  to  know  the  truth.  If 
he  could  feel  an  asserted  '  truth  '  to  be  really  true,  I  am 
confident  he  would  frame  his  life  upon  it,  and  be  a  good, 
brave  man.  Yes — he  is  a  clever  lad, — and  our  modern 
system  of  education  pushes  the  brain  to  a  precocity  ex- 
ceeding bodily  years, — his  impatience  and  anger  only 
come  from  puzzling  over  what  he  finds  it  difficult  to  un- 
derstand. It  is  all  a  puzzle  to  him — all  a  puzzle ! — as  it  is 
to  most  of  us !  "  He  sighed — then  added  in  a  lighter 
tone — "  I  shall  want  nothing  more  at  your  kindly  hands, 
my  daughter.  I  have  decided  to  leave  Rouen  for  Paris 
to-day  and  \vill  take  an  early  afternoon  train.  Manuel  " 
— and  he  hesitated  a  moment — "  Manuel  will  go  with 
me." 

Madame  was  scarcely  surprised  at  this  announcement. 
She  had  indeed  expected  it.  She  glanced  at  Manuel  him- 
self to  see  how  he  accepted  this  sudden  change  in  his 
fortunes,  but  he  was  entirely  absorbed  in  watching  Henri 
and  Babette  lead  their  little  crippled  friend  away.  After 
all,  there  was  nothing  to  be  said.  The  Cardinal  was  a  free 
agent, — he  had  a  perfect  right  to  befriend  a  home- 
less boy  and  give  him  sustenance  and  protection  if  he 
chose.  He  would  make,  thought  Madame,  a  perfect 
acolyte,  and  would  look  like  a  young  angel  in  his  little 
white  surplice.  And  so  the  good  woman,  deciding  in 
her  own  mind  that  such  was  the  simple  destiny  for  which 
the  Cardinal  intended  him,  smiled,  murmured  something 


84  The  Master-Christian. 

deferential  and  approving,  and  hastened  from  the  room, 
to  prepare  for  Monseigneur,  whether  he  asked  for  it  or 
not,  a  dish  of  her  most  .excellent  soup,  to  strengthen  and 
support  him  before  starting  on  his  journey.  And  ere 
four  o'clock  had  chimed  from  all  the  towers  of  the  city, 
the  Hotel  Poitiers  was  deprived  of  its  honoured  guest, — 
the  Cardinal,  accompanied  by  his  foundling,  had  departed, 
and  the  black,  smoky,  snake-like  train  had  rushed  with 
them  through  the  smiling  peace  of  the  Normandy  pas- 
ture-lands on  towards  the  brilliant  "  city  enthroned  in 
wickedness,"  which  sparkles  like  a  j.ewel  on  the  borders 
of  the  Seine  as  gloriously  as  ever  Babylon  sparkled  on 
the  shores  of  Euphrates.  As  godless,  as  hollow  to  the 
very  core  of  rottenness,  as  her  sister  of  ancient  days, 
wanton  "  Lutetia  "  shines, — with  the  ghastly  and  unnat- 
ural lustre  of  phosphorescent  luminance  arising  from  old 
graves — and  as  divinely  determined  as  the  destruction  of 
the  old-time  city  splendid,  is  the  approaching  downfall 
of  the  modern  capital.  To  the  inhabitants  of  Rouen,  the 
very  name  of  Paris  carries  with  it  a  kind  of  awe, — it  ex- 
cites various  emotions  of  wonder,  admiration,  longing, 
curiosity  and  even  fear, — for  Paris  is  a  witches' 
cauldron  in  which  Republicanism,  Imperialism,  Roy- 
alism.  Communism  and  Socialism,  are  all  thrown  by 
the  Fates  to  seethe  together  in  a  hellish  broth  of 
conflicting  elements — and  the  smoke  of  it  ascends  in 
reeking  blasphemy  to  Heaven.  Not  from  its  church- 
altars  does  the  cry  of  "  How  long,  O  Lord,  how" 
long !  "  ascend  nowadays, — for  its  priests  are  more  skilled 
in  the  use  of  the  witty  bon-mot  or  the  polished  sneer  than 
in  the  power  of  the  prophet's  appeal, — it  is  from  the 
Courts  of  Science  that  the  warning  note  of  terror  sounds, 
— the  cold  vast  courts  where  reasoning  thinkers  wander, 
and  learn,  and  deeply  meditate,  knowing  that  all  their 
researches  but  go  to  prove  the  fact  that  apart  from  all 
creed  and  all  forms  of  creed,  Crime  carries  Punishment 
as  surely  as  the  seed  is  born  with  the  flower, — thinkers 
who  are  fully  aware  that  not  all  the  forces  of  all  man- 
kind, working  with  herculean  insistence  to  support  a  Lie, 
can  drive  back  the  storm-cloud  of  the  wrath  of  that  "  Un- 
known Quantity  "  called  God,  whose  thunders  do  most 
terribly  declare  the  truth  "  with  power  and  great  glory." 
"  How  long  O  Lord,  how  long !  "  Not  long,  we  think,  O 


The  Master-Christian.  85 

friends ! — not  long  now  shall  we  wait  for  the  Divine  Pro- 
nouncement of  the  End.  Hints  of  it  are  in  the  air, — 
signs  and  portents  of  it  are  about  us  in  our  almost  ter- 
rific discoveries  of  the  invisible  forces  of  Light  and 
Sound, — we  are  not  given  such  tremendous  powers  to 
play  with  in  our  puny  fashion  for  the  convenience  of 
making  our  brief  lives  easier  to  live  and  more  interest- 
ing,— no,  there  is  some  deeper  reason, — one,  which  in  our 
heedless  way  of  dancing  over  our  own  Earth-grave,  we 
never  dream  of.  And  we  go  on  making  our  little  plans, 
building  our  ships  and  making  loud  brags  of  our  armies, 
and  our  skill,  and  our  prowess  both  by  land  and  sea,  and 
our  amazing  importance  to  ourselves  and  to  others, — 
which  importance  has  reached  such  a  height  at  the  pres- 
ent day  as  to  make  of  us  a  veritable  spectacle  for  Olym- 
pian laughter, — and  we  draw  out  our  little  sums  of  life 
from  the  Eternal  exchequer,  and  add  them  up  and  try  to 
obtain  the  highest  interest  for  them,  always  forgetting  to 
calculate  that  in  making  up  the  sum  total,  that  mysterious 
"  Unknown  Quantity  "  will  have  to  come  in,  and  (un- 
less it  has  been  taken  into  due  counting  from  the  first) 
will  be  a  figure  likely  to  swamp  the  whole  banking  busi- 
ness. And  in  this  particular  phase  of  speculation  and 
exchange,  Paris  has  long  been  playing  a  losing  game. 
So  steadily  has  she  lost,  in  honour,  in  prestige,  in  faith,  in 
morals,  in  justice,  in  honesty  and  in  cleanly  living,  that  it 
does  not  seem  possible  she  can  ever  retrieve  herself.  Her 
men  are  dissolute, — her  women  shameless — her  youth  of 
both  sexes  depraved, — her  laws  are  corrupt — her  arts  de- 
cadent— her  religion  dead.  What  next  can  be  expected 
of  her  ? — or  rather  to  what  extent  will  Destiny  permit  her 
to  go  before  the  bolt  of  destruction  falls  ?  "  Thus  far,  and 
no  farther  "  has  ever  been  the  Principle  of  Nature — and 
Paris  has  almost  touched  the  "  Thus  far." 

Sitting  quietly  in  her  tidy  kitchen  near  the  open  win- 
dow, after  the  Cardinal's  departure,  Madame  Patoux 
knitted  busily,  her  thoughts  flying  faster  than  her  glitter- 
ing needles.  A  certain  vague  impression  of  solemnity 
had  been  left  on  her  mind  by  the  events  of  the  morning. 
— she  could  not  quite  reason  out  the  why  or  the  wherefore 
of  it — and  yet — it  was  a  fact  that  after  Monseigneur  had 
gone,  she  had,  when  entering  the  rooms  he  had  vacated, 
felt  a  singular  sense  of  awe. 


86  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Almost  as  if  one  were  in  the  Cathedral  at  the  ring- 
ing of  the  '  Sanctus ' "  she  murmured  under  her  breath, 
glancing  about  timidly  at  the  plain  furniture  and  bare 
walls.  And  after  putting  everything  in  order,  she  closed 
and  locked  the  doors  jealously,  with  a  determination  that 
she  would  not  let  those  rooms  to  the  first  chance-comer 
for  a  long  time, — no,  though  she  might  have  to  lose  money 
by  her  refusal.  And  now,  as  she  sat  actively  employed  in 
knitting  socks  for  Henri,  whom  she  could  see  sitting  with 
his  sister  outside  on  the  bench  under  the  house  porch, 
reading  or  pretending  to  read,  she  began  to  wonder  what 
opinion  those  two  young  miscreants  had  formed  in  their 
minds  respecting  the  Cardinal,  and  also  what  they  thought 
of  the  boy  who  had  been  taken  so  suddenly  under  his  pro- 
tection. She  was  almost  tempted  to  call  Henri  and  ask 
him  a  few  questions  on  the  subject, — but  she  had  learnt 
to  value  peace  and  quietness  when  she  could  secure  those 
rare  blessings  at  the  hands  of  her  children,  and  when  they 
were  employed  with  a  book  and  visibly  out  of  mischief 
she  thought  it  wisest  to  leave  them  alone.  And  so  she 
left  them  in  the  present  instance,  pushing  her  window 
open  as  she  sat  and  knitted,  for  the  air  was  warm  and 
balmy,  and  the  long  rays  of  sunshine  streaming  across  the 
square  were  of  the  hue  of  a  ripe  nectarine  just  gathered, 
and  the  delicate  mouldings  and  traceries  and  statues  on 
the  porch  of  the  Cathedral  appeared  like  so  many  twin- 
ings  of  grey  gossamer  web  glistening  in  a  haze  of  gold. 
Now  and  then  neighbours  passed,  and  nodded  or  called  a 
greeting  which  Madame  Patoux  answered  cheerily,  still 
knitting  vivaciously ;  and  the  long  shafts  of  sunshine  grew 
longer,  casting  deeper  shadows  as  the  quarters  chimed. 
All  at  once  there  was  a  cry, — a  woman's  figure  came  rush- 
ing precipitately  across  the  square, — Madame  Patoux 
sprang  up,  and  her  children  ran  out  of  the  porch  as  they 
recognised  Martine  Doucet. 

"  Martine !  Martine  !  What  is  it !  "  they  all  cried 
simultaneously. 

Martine,  breathless,  dishevelled,  laughing  and  sobbing 
alternately,  tried  to  speak,  but  could  only  gesticulate  and 
throw  up  her  hands  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  but  whether  of 
despair  or  joy  could  not  be  guessed.  Madame  Patoux 
shook  her  by  the  arm. 


The  Master-Christian.  87 

"  Martine ! — speak — what  is  it !  " 

Martine  made  a  violent  effort. 

"  Fabien  ! — Fabien "  she  gasped,  flinging  herself  to 

and  fro  and  still  sobbing  and  laughing. 

"  Mon  Dieu !  "  cried  Madame  in  horror.  "  Is  the  child 
dead?" 

"  No,  no ! "  and  Martine  again  tossed  her  arms 

aloft  in  a  kind  of  frenzy.  "  No — but  look  you ! — there  is 
a  God !  Yes ! — we  thought  He  was  an  invention  of  the 
priests — but  no — He  is  a  real  God  after  all! — Oh  mes 
enfants!"  and  she  tried  to  grasp  the  amazed  Henri  and 
Babette  in  her  arms,  "  You  are  two  of  His  angels ! — you 
took  my  boy  to  the  Cardinal " 

The  children  glanced  at  each  other. 

"  Yes — yes  !  "  they  murmured  breathlessly. 

"  Well !  and  see  what  has  happened ! — See ! — Here 
comes  Fabien !  " 

And  as  she  spoke  exultantly  with  an  excitement  that 
seemed  to  inspire  every  nerve  of  her  body,  a  little  figure 
came  running  lightly  towards  them, — the  light  strong 
figure  of  a  boy  with  fair  curls  flying  in  the  wind,  and  a 
face  in  which  the  large,  grey,  astonished  eyes  flashed  with 
an  almost  divine  joy. 

"  Mother ! — Mother !  "  he  cried. 

Madame  Patoux  felt  as  though  the  heavens  had  sud- 
denly opened  to  lej  the  angels  down.  Was  this  Fabien? 
Fabien,  who  had  hobbled  painfully  upon  crutches  all  his 
life,  and  had  left  her  house  in  his  usual  condition  an  hour 
or  so  ago? — This  straight-limbed  child,  running  with  the 
graceful  and  easy  movement  of  a  creature  who  had  never 
known  a  day's  pain? 

"  Fabien,  is  it  thou?  "  almost  screamed  Henri,  "  Speak, 
is  it  thou  ?  " 

"  It  is  I  "  said  Fabien,  and  he  stopped,  panting  for 

breath, then  threw  his  arms  round  his  mother's  neck 

and  faced  them, — "  It  is  I — strong  and  well ! — thanks  to 
God  and  the  prayers  of  the  Cardinal !  " 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  dead  silence, — a  silence  of 
stupefied  amazement  unbroken  save  by  the  joyful  weep- 
ing of  Martine.  Then  suddenly  a  deep-toned  bell  rang 
from  the  topmost  tower  of  Notre  Dame — and  in  the 
flame-red  of  the  falling  sun  the  doves  that  make  their 


08  The  Master-Christian. 

homes  among  the  pinnacles  of  the  great  Cathedral,  rose 
floating  in  cloudy  circles  towards  the  sky.  One  bell — 
and  then  another — yet  another! — 

"  The  Angelus !  "  cried  Babette  dropping  on  her  knees 
and  folding  her  hands,  "  The  Angelus  ! — Mother — Mar- 
tine — Henri ! — Fabien ! — the  Angelus !  "- 

Down  they  all  knelt,  a  devotional  group,  in  the  porch 
through  which  the  good  Cardinal  had  so  lately  passed, 
and  the  bells  chimed  sweetly  and  melodiously  as  Fabien 
reverently  repeated  the  Angelic  Salutation  amid  re- 
sponses made  with  tears  and  thanksgiving,  and  neigh- 
bours and  townfolk  hearing  of  the  miracle  came  hastening 
to  the  Hotel  Poitiers  to  enquire  into  its  truth,  and  paus- 
ing as  they  saw  the  cluster  of  kneeling  figures  in  the 
porch  instinctively  and  without  question  knelt  also, — 
then  as  the  news  spread,  group  after  group  came  run- 
ning and  gathering  together,  and  dropping  on  their  knees 
amazed  and  awe-struck,  till  the  broad  Square  showed 
but  one  black  mass  of  a  worshipping  congregation  under 
the  roseate  sky,  their  voices  joining  in  unison  with  the 
clear  accents  of  one  little  happy  child ;  while  behind  them 
rose  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  and  over  their  heads  the 
white  doves  flew  and  the  bells  of  the  Angelus  ranr.  And 
the  sun  dropped  slowly  into  the  west,  crimson  and  glori- 
ous like  the  shining  rim  of  a  Sacramental  Cup  held  out 
and  then  drawn  slowly  back  again  by  angel  hands  within 
the  Veil  of  Heaven. 


VII. 

MEANWHILE,  unconscious  of  the  miracle  his  prayer  had 
wrought,  Cardinal  Bonpre  and  his  young  charge  Manuel, 
arrived  in  Paris,  and  drove  from  the  station  direct  to  a 
house  situated  near  the  Bois  du  Boulogne,  where  the  Car- 
dinal's niece,  Angela  Sovrani,  only  daughter  of  Prince 
Sovrani,  and  herself  famous  throughout  Europe  as  a 
painter  of  the  highest  promise,  had  a  suite  of  rooms  and 
studio,  reserved  for  her  occasional  visits  to  the  French 
capital.  Angela  Sovrani  was  a  rare  type  of  her  sex, — 
unlike  any  other  woman  in  the  world,  so  those  who  knew 
her  best  were  wont  to  declare.  Without  being  actually 
beautiful,  according  to,  the  accepted  lines  and  canons  of 
physical  perfection,  she  created  around  her  an  effect  of 
beauty,  which  was  dazzling  and  exciting  to  a  singular 
degree, — people  who  came  once  within  the  charmed  cir- 
cle of  her  influence  could  never  forget  her,  and  always 
spoke  of  her  afterwards  as  a  creature  apart ; — a  "  woman 
of  genius, — yes !  " — they  said,  "  But  something  more  even 
than  that."  And  this  "  something  more,"  was  just  the 
inexplicable  part  of  her  which  governed  her  whole  being, 
and  rendered  her  so  indescribably  attractive.  And  she 
was  not  without  beauty — or  perhaps  it  should  be  termed 
loveliness  rather, — of  an  exquisitely  suggestive  kind, 
which  provoked  the  beholder  into  questioning  where  and 
how  the  glamour  of  it  fell.  In  her  eyes,  perhaps,  the  se- 
cret lay, — they  were  violet-grey  in  hue,  and  drowsy- 
lidded,  with  long  lashes  that  swept  the  delicate  pale 
cheeks  in  a  dark  golden  fringe  of  shadow,  through  which 
the  sparkle  of  vision  gleamed, — now  warningly,  now  ten- 
derly,— and  anon,  these  same  half-shut  and  deep  fringed 
lids  would  open  wide,  letting  the  full  brilliance  of  the 
soul  behind  the  eyes  pour  forth  its  luminance,  in  flashes 
of  such  lightning-like  clearness  and  compelling  force,  that 
it  was  impossible  not  to  recognise  something  higher  than 
mere  woman  in  the  dazzle  of  that  spiritual  glory.  In 
figure  she  was  wonderfully  slight, — so  slight  indeed  that 


90  The  Master-Christian. 

she  suggested  a  delicate  willow-withe  such  as  can  be  bent 
and  curved  with  one  hand — yet  this  slightness  stood  her 
in  good  stead,  for  being  united  with  extreme  suppleness, 
it  gave  her  a  grace  of  movement  resembling  that  of  some 
skimming  mountain  bird  or  sea-swallow,  which  flies  with 
amazing  swiftness  yet  seeming  slowness.  Angela  never 
moved  quickly, — no  one  had  ever  seen  her  in  what  is 
termed  a  "  rush,"  or  a  vulgar  hurry.  She  did  everything 
she  had  to  do  without  haste,  without  noise,  without  an- 
nouncement or  assertion  of  any  kind ; — and  all  that  she 
did  was  done  as  perfectly  as  her  ability  could  warrant. 
And  that  ability  was  very  great  indeed,  and  displayed  it- 
self in  small  details  as  well  as  large  attempts.  Whether 
she  merely  twisted  her  golden-brown  hair  into  a  knot,  or 
tied  a  few  flowers  together  and  fastened  them  on  her 
dress  with  a  pearl  pin,  either  thing  was  perfectly  done — 
without  a  false  line  or  a  discordant  hue.  Her  face,  form, 
voice  and  colouring  were  like  a  chord  of  music,  harmoni- 
ous,— and  hence  the  impression  of  satisfaction  and  com- 
posure her  presence  always  gave.  In  herself  she  was  a 
creature  of  remarkable  temperament  and  character ; — true 
womanly  in  every  delicate  sentiment,  fancy  and  feeling, 
but  with  something  of  the  man-hero  in  her  scorn  of  petty 
aims,  her  delight  in  noble  deeds,  her  courage,  her  am- 
bition, her  devotion  to  duty  and  her  unflinching  sense  of 
honour.  Full  of  rare  perceptions  and  instinctive  knowl- 
edge of  persons  and  motives,  she  could  only  be  deceived 
and  blinded  where  her  deepest  affections  were  concerned, 
and  there  she  could  certainly  be  fooled  and  duped  as  com- 
pletely as  the  wisest  of  us  all.  Looking  at  her  now  as  she 
stood  awaiting  her  uncle's  arrival  in  the  drawing-room 
of  her  "  suite,"  the  windows  of  which  faced  the  Bois,  she 
expressed  to  the  air  and  surroundings  the  personality 
of  a  thoughtful,  charming  young  woman, — no  more. 
Her  black  silk  gown,  cut  simply  in  the  prevailing  mode 
of  definitely  outlining  the  figure  from  throat  to  hips,  and 
then  springing  out  in  pliant  folds  of  trailing  drapery,  had 
nothing  remarkable  about  it  save  its  Parisian  perfection  of 
fit, — the  pale  "  Gloire  de  France  "  rose  that  rested  lightly 
amongst  the  old  lace  at  her  neck,  pinned,  yet  looking  as 
though  it  had  dropped  there  merely  out  of  a  languid  de- 
sire to  escape  from  further  growing,  was  her  only  orna- 
ment. Her  hair,  full  of  curious  lights  and  shades  run- 


The  Master-Christian.  91 

ning  from  brown  to  gold  and  gold  to  brown  again,  in  a 
rippling  uncertain  fashion,  clustered  thickly  over  her  brow 
and  was  caught  back  at  the  sides  in  a  loose  twist  after  the 
style  of  the  Greek  vestals, — and  her  fine,  small  white 
hands  and  taper  fingers,  so  skilled  in  the  use  of  the  artist's 
brush,  looked  too  tiny  and  delicate  to  be  of  any  service 
save  to  receive  the  kisses  of  a  lover's  lips, — or  to  be 
raised,  folded  pure  and  calm,  in  a  child-like  appeal  to 
Heaven.  Certainly  in  her  fragile  appearance  she  ex- 
pressed nothing  save  indefinable  charm — no  one,  studying 
her  physiognomy,  would  have  accredited  her  with  genius, 
power,  and  the  large  conceptions  of  a  Murillo  or  a 
Raphael ; — yet  within  the  small  head  lay  a  marvellous 
brain — and  the  delicate  body  was  possessed  by  a  spirit 
of  amazing  potency  to  conjure  with.  While  she  watched 
for  the  first  glimpse  of  the  carriage  which  was  to  bring  her 
uncle  the  Cardinal,  whom  she  loved  with  a  rare  and  tender 
devotion,  her  thoughts  were  occupied  with  a  letter  she 
had  received  that  morning  from  Rome, — a  letter  "  writ  in 
choice  Italian,"  which  though  brief,  contained  for  her 
some  drops  of  the  essence  of  all  the  world's  sweetness,  and 
was  worded  thus — 

"  MY  OWN  LOVE  ! — A  century  seems  to  have  passed 
away  since  you  left  Rome.  The  hours  move  slowly  with- 
out you — they  are  days, — even  years! — but  I  feel  your 
spirit  is  always  with  me!  Absence  for  those  who  love, 
is  not  absence  after  all !  To  the-  soul,  time  is  nothing, 
— space  is  nothing, — and  my  true  and  passionate  love  for 
you  makes  an  invisible  bridge,  over  which  my  thoughts 
run  and  fly  to  your  sweet  presence,  carrying  their  de- 
licious burden  of  a  thousand  kisses ! — a  thousand  em- 
braces and  blessings  to  the  Angela  and  angel  of  my  life ! 
From  her  devoted  lover, 

"  FLORIAN." 

Her  devoted  lover,  Florian!  Yes;  Florian  Varillo — 
her  comrade  in  art,  was  her  lover, — a  genius  himself, 
who  had  recognised  her  genius  and  who  bowed  before  it, 
conquered  and  subdued!  Florian,  the  creator  of  ex- 
quisitely delicate  landscapes  and  seascapes,  with  nymphs 
and  cupids  and  nereids  and  sirens  all  daintily  portrayed 
therein, — pictures  so  ethereal  and  warm  and  bright  in 


92  The  Master-Christian. 

colour  that  they  were  called  by  some  of  the  best  Italian 
critics,  the  "  amoretti  "  of  painting, — he,  this  wonder- 
ful man,  had  caught  her  soul  and  heart  by  storm,  in  a  few 
sudden,  quickly-whispered  words  one  night  when  the 
moon  was  at  the  full,  hanging  high  over  the  gardens  of 
the  Pincio, — and,  proud  of  her  security  in  the  love  she 
had  won,  Angela  had  risen  by  leaps  and  bounds  to  a  mag- 
nificence of  creative  effort  and  attainment  so  far  beyond 
him,  that  old  and  wise  persons,  skilled  in  the  wicked  ways 
of  the  world,  would  sometimes  discourse  among  them- 
selves in  dubious  fashion  thus :  "  Is  it  possible  that  he  is 
not  jealous?  He  must  surely  see  that  her  work  is  su- 
perior to  his  own  !  "  And  others  would  answer,  "  Oh  no ! 
No  man  was  ever  known  to  admit,  even  in  thought,  that 
a  woman  can  do  better  things  in  art  than  himself!  If  a 
masculine  creature  draws  a  picture  on  a  paving-stone  he 
will  assure  himself  in  his  own  Ego,  that  it  is  really  much 
more  meritorious  simply  as  '  man's  work '  than  the  last 
triumph  of  a  Rosa  Bonheur.  Besides,  you  have  to  re- 
member that  in  this  case  the  man  is  the  woman's  lover — 
he  could  soon  kill  her  genius  if  he  chose.  He  has  simply 
to  desert  her, — such  an  easy  thing ! — so  often  done  ! — and 
she  will  paint  no  more.  Women  are  all  alike, — they  rest 
on  love, — when  that  fails,  then  everything  fails,  and  they 
drop  into  old  age  without  a  groan."  And  then  per- 
haps a  stray  cynic  would  say,  "  But  Angela  Sovrani 
need  not  depend  on  one  lover  surely? — "  and  he  would 
get  for  answer,  "  No,  she  need  not — but  it  so  happens 
that  she  does," — which  to  everybody  seemed  extraor- 
dinary, more  particularly  in  Italy,  where  morals  are  so 
lax,  that  a  woman  has  only  to  be  seen  walking  alone 
in  the  public  gardens  or  streets  with  one  of  the  oppo- 
site sex,  and  her  reputation  is  gone  for  ever.  It  is  no 
use  to  explain  that  the  man  in  question  is  her  father, 
her  brother  or  her  uncle, — he  simply  could  not  be.  He 
is  THE  man,  the  one  inevitable.  Few  Italians  Cm  Italy) 
believe  in  the  chastity  of  English  women. — their  reasons 
for  doubt  being  simply  because  they  see  the  fair  and  free 
ones  going  to  parties,  theatres  and  other  places  of  amuse- 
ment with  their  friends  of  the  other  sex  in  perfect  ease 
and  confidence.  And  in  the  case  of  Angela  Sovrani, 
though  she  was  affianced  to  Florian  Varillo  with  her 
father's  consent,  (reluctantly  obtained,)  and  the  knowl- 


The  Master-Christian.  93 

edge  of  all  the  Roman  world  of  society,  she  saw  very  lit- 
tle of  him, — and  that  little,  never  aione.  Thus  it  was 
very  sweet  to  receive  such  consoling  words  as  those  she 
had  had  from  him  that  day — "  Time  is  nothing, — space 
is  nothing, — and  my  true  and  passionate  love  for  you 
makes  an  invisible  bridge  over  which  my  thoughts  run 
and  fly  to  your  sweet  presence !  "  The  letter  lay  warm 
in  her  bosom  just  under  the  "  Gloire  de  France  "  rose ; 
she  pressed  it  tenderly  with  her  little  hand  now  simply 
for  the  childish  pleasure  of  hearing  the  paper  rustle,  and 
she  smiled  dreamily. 

"  Florian,"  she  murmured  half  aloud ! — "  My  Florian !  " 
And  she  recalled  certain  lines  of  verse  he  had  written 
to  her, — for  most  Italians  write  verse  as  easily  as  they  eat 
maccaroni ; — and  there  are  countless  rhymes  to  "  amor  " 
in  the  dulcet  Dante-tongue,  whereas  our  rough  English 
can  only  supply  for  the  word  "  love  "  some  three  or  four 
similar  sounds, — which  is  perhaps  a  fortunate  thing. 
Angela  spoke  English  and  French  as  easily  and  fluently 
as  her  native  Tuscan,  and  had  read  the  most  notable  books 
in  all  three  languages,  so  she  was  well  aware  that  of  all 
kinds  of  human  speech  in  the  world  there  is  none  so 
adapted  for  making  love  and  generally  telling  lies  in, 
as  the  "  lingua  Toscana  in  bocca  Romano."  And  this 
particular  "  lingua "  Florian  possessed  in  fullest  perfec- 
tion of  sweetness,  so  far  as  making  love  was  concerned ; 
— of  the  telling  of  lies  he  was,  according  to  Angela's  esti- 
mate of  him,  most  nobly  ignorant.  She  had  not  many  idle 
moments,  however,  for  meditation  on  her  love  matters,  or 
for  dreamy  study  of  the  delicate  beginnings  of  the  au- 
tumnal tints  on  the  trees  of  the  Bois,  for  the  carriage  she 
had  been  awaiting  soon  made  its  appearance,  and  bowling 
rapidly  down  the  road  drew  up  sharply  at  the  door.  She 
had  just  time  to  perceive  that  her  uncle  had  not  arrived 
alone,  when  he  entered, — and  with  a  pretty  grace  and  rev- 
erence for  his  holy  calling,  she  dropped  on  one  knee  be- 
fore him  to  receive  his  benediction,  which  he  gave  by  lay- 
ing a  hand  on  her  soft  hair  and  signing  the  cross  on  her 
brow.  After  which  he  raised  her  and  looked  at  her 
fondly. 

"  My  dear  child  !  " — he  said,  tenderly, — and  again  "  My 
dear  child !  " 

Then  he  turned  towards  Manuel,  who  had  followed 


94  The  Master-Christian. 

him  and  was  now  standing  quietly  on  the  threshold  of  the 
apartment. 

"  Angela,  this  is  one  of  our  Lord's  '  little  ones,'  "  he 
said, — "  He  is  alone  in  the  world,  and  I  have  made  myself 
his  guardian  and  protector  for  the  present.  You  will 
be  kind  to  him — yes — as  kind  as  if  you  were  his  sister, 
will  you  not? — for  we  are  all  one  family  in  the  sight 
of  Heaven,  and  sorrow  and  loneliness  and  want  can 
but  strengthen  the  love  which  should  knit  us  all  to- 
gether." 

Raising  her  candid  eyes,  and  fixing  them  on  Manuel, 
Angela  smiled.  The  thoughtful  face  and  pathetic  ex- 
pression of  the  boy  greatly  attracted  her,  and  in  her  heart 
she  secretly  wondered  where  her  uncle  had  found  so  in- 
telligent and  inspired-looking  a  creature.  But  one  of 
her  ttttfeminine  attributes  was  a  certain  lack  of  curiosity 
concerning  other  people's  affairs,  and  an  almost  fastidious 
dislike  of  asking  questions  on  matters  which  did  not 
closely  concern  her.  So  she  contented  herself  with  giv- 
ing him  that  smile  of  hers  which  in  itself  expressed  all 
sweetness,  and  saying  gently, — 

"  You  are  very  welcome !  You  must  try  to  feel  that 
wherever  my  uncle  is, — that  is  '  home  '." 

"  I  have  felt  that  from  the  first," — replied  Manuel  in 
his  soft  musical  voice,  "  I  was  all  alone  when  my  lord  the 
Cardinal  found  me, — but  with  him  the  world  seems  full 
of  friends." 

Angela  looked  at  him  still  more  attentively;  and  the 
fascination  of  his  presence  became  intensified.  She  would 
have  liked  to  continue  the  conversation,  but  her 
uncle  was  fatigued  by  his  journey,  and  expressed  the 
desire  for  an  hour's  rest.  She  therefore  summoned  a  ser- 
vant to  show  him  to  the  rooms  prepared  for  his  reception, 
whither  he  went,  Manuel  attending  him, — and  when,  after 
a  little  while,  Angela  followed  to  see  that  all  was  arranged 
suitably  for  his  comfort,  she  found  that  he  had  retired 
to  his  bed-chamber,  and  that  just  outside  his  door  in  a 
little  ante-room  adjoining,  his  "  waif  and  stray "  was 
seated,  reading.  There  was  something  indescribable  about 
the  boy  even  in  this  reposeful  attitude  of  study, — and 
Angela  observed  him  for  a  minute  or  two,  herself  unseen. 
His  face  reminded  her  of  one  of  Fra  Angelico's  seraphs, 
— the  same  broad  brow,  deep  eyes  and  sensitive  lips, 


The  Master-Christian.  95 

which  seemed  to  suggest  the  utterance  of  wondrous  speech 
or  melodious  song, — the  same  golden  hair  swept  back  in 
rich  clusters, — the  same  eager,  inspired,  yet  controlled 
expression.  A  curious  fluttering  of  her  heart  disturbed 
the  girl  as  she  looked — an  indefinable  dread — a  kind  of 
wonder,  that  almost  touched  on  superstitious  awe.  Man- 
uel himself,  apparently  unconscious  of  her  observation, 
went  on  reading, — his  whole  attitude  expressing  that  he 
was  guarding  the  door  to  deter  anyone  from  breaking  in 
upon  the  Cardinal's  rest,  and  Angela  at  last  turned  away 
reluctantly,  questioning  herself  as  to  the  cause  of  the 
strange  uneasiness  which  thrilled  her.  mind. 

"  It  is  foolish,  of  course," — she  murmured,  "  but  I  feel 
just  as  if  there  were  a  supernatural  presence  in  the  house, 
.  .  .  however, — I  always  do  have  that  impression  with 
Uncle  Felix,  for  he  is  so  good  and  noble-minded, — almost 
a  saint,  as  everyone  says — but  to-day  there  is  something 
else something  quite  unusual " 

She  re-entered  the  drawing-room,  moving  slowly  with 
an  abstracted  air,  and  did  not  at  once  perceive  a  visitor 
in  the  room; — a  portly  person  in  clerical  dress,  with  a 
somewhat  large  head  and  strongly  marked  features, — a 
notable  character  of  the  time  in  Paris,  known  as  the  Abbe 
Vergniaud.  He  had  seated  himself  in  a  low  fauteuil,  and 
was  turning  over  the  pages  of  the  month's  "  Revue  de 
Deux  Mondes  ",  humming  a  little  tune  under  his  breath 
as  he  did  so, — but  he  rose  when  he  saw  Angela,  and  ad- 
vanced smilingly  to  greet  her  as  she  stopped  short, 
with  a  little  startled  exclamation  of  surprise  at  the  sight 
of  him. 

"  Forgive  me !  "  he  said,  with  an  expressively  apologetic 
gesture, — "  Have  I  come  at  an  inopportune  moment  ?  I 
saw  your  uncle  arrive,  and  I  was  extremely  anxious  to 
see  him  on  a  little  confidential  matter — I  ventured  to  per- 
suade your  servant  to  let  me  enter — " 

"  No  apologies  are  necessary,  Monsieur  1'Abbe  "  said 
Angela,  quickly,  "  My  uncle  Felix  is  indeed  here,  but  he 
is  tired  with  his  journey  and  is  resting " 

"  Yes,  I  understand !  "  And  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  show- 
ing no  intention  to  take  his  leave  on  account  of  the  Car- 
dinal's non-presence,  bowed  low  over  the  extended  hand 
of  "  the  Sovrani  "  as  she  was  sometimes  called  in  the 
world  of  art,  where  her  name  was  a  bone  for  envious 


96  The  Master-Christian. 

dogs-in-the-manger  to  fight  over — "  But  if  I  might  wait 
a  little  while — " 

"  Your  business  with  my  uncle  is  important  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Angela  with  slightly  knitted  brows. 

"  My  dear  child,  all  business  is  important, " — declared 
the  Abbe,  with  a  smile  which  spread  the  light  of  a  cer- 
tain satirical  benevolence  all  over  his  plump  clean-shaven 
face,  "  or  so  we  think — we  who  consider  that  we  have  any 
business, — which  is  of  course  a  foolish  idea, — but  one 
that  is  universal  to  human  nature.  We  all  imagine  we  are 
busy — which  is  so  curious  of  us !  Will  you  sit  here  ?— 
Permit  me !  "  And  he  dexterously  arranged  a  couple  of 
cushions  in  an  arm-chair  and  placed  it  near  the  window. 
Angela  half-reluctantly  seated  herself,  watching  the  Abbe 
under  the  shadow  of  her  long  lashes  as  he  sat  down  oppo- 
site to  her.  "  Yes, — the  emmets,  the  flies,  the  worms  and 
the  men,  are  all  of  one  equality  in  the  absurd  belief  that 
they  can  do  things — things  that  will  last.  Their  per- 
sistent self -credulity  is  astonishing, — considering  the  ad- 
vance the  world  has  made  in  science,  and  the  overwhelm- 
ing proofs  we  are  always  getting  of  the  fact  that  we  are 
only  One  of  an  eternal  procession  of  many  mighty  civ- 
ilizations, all  of  which  have  been  swept  away  with  every- 
thing they  have  ever  learnt,  into  silence, — so  that  really 
all  we  do,  or  try  to  do,  amounts  to  doing  nothing  in  the 
end !  " 

"  That  is  your  creed,  I  know,"  said  Angela  Sovrani 
with  a  faint  sigh,  "  But  it  is  a  depressing  and  a  wretched 
one." 

"  I  do  not  find  it  so,"  responded  the  Abbe,  complacently 
looking  at  a  fine  diamond  ring  that  glittered  on  the  little 
finger  of  his  plump  white  hand,  "  It  is  a  creed  which  im- 
presses upon  us  the  virtue  of  being  happy  during  the 
present  moment,  no  matter  what  the  next  may  bring.  Let 
each  man  enjoy  himself  according  to  his  temperament  and 
capabilities.  Do  not  impose  bounds  upon  him — give  him 
his  liberty.  Let  him  alone.  Do  not  try  to  bamboozle  him 
with  the  idea  that  there  is  a  God  looking  after  him.  So 
will  he  be  spared  much  disappointment  and  useless  blas- 
phemy. If  he  makes  his  own  affairs  unpleasant  in  this 
world,  he  will  not  be  able  to  lift  up  his  hands  to  the  in- 
nocent skies,  which  are  only  composed  of  pure  ether,  and 
blame  an  impossible  Large  Person  sitting  up  there  who 


The  Master-Christian.  97 

can  have  no  part  in  circumstances  which  are  entirely  un- 
known outside  the  earth's  ridiculously  small  orbit." 

He  smiled  kindly  as  he  spoke,  and  looked  paternally 
at  "  the  Sovrani,"  who  flushed  with  a  sudden  warmth 
that  sent  a  wave  of  pale  rose  over  her  face,  and  made  her 
cheeks  the  colour  of  the  flower  she  wore. 

"  How.  cruel  you  are!"  she  said, — "How  cold — how' 
didactic !  You  would  give  each  man  his  freedom  ac- 
cording to  habit  and  temperament, — no  matter  whether 
such  habit  and  temperament  led  to  crime  or  otherwise, — 
you  would  impose  upon  him  no  creed, — no  belief  in  any- 
thing higher  than  himself, — and  yet — you  remain  in  the 
Church !  " 

The  Abbe  laughed  softly. 

"  Chere  Sovrani !  You  are  angry — deliciously  angry ! 
Impulsively,  enthusiastically,  beautifully  vexed  with  me! 
I  like  to  see  you  so, — you  are  a  woman  of  remarkable 
genius,  and  yet  you  are  quite  a  little  child  in  heart, — a 
positive  child,  with  beliefs  and  hopes !  I  should  not  won- 
der if  you  even  believed  that  love  itself  is  eternal ! — that 

ng   of   phantoms  ! yes — and   you    exclaim 

against  me  because  I  venture  to  think  for  myself?  It  is 
appalling  that  I  should  think  for  myself  and  yet  remain 
in  the  Church?  My  dear  lady,  you  might  just  as  well, 
after  unravelling  the  dirty  entanglement  of  the  Dreyfus 
case,  have  turned  upon  our  late  friend  Faure  and  ex- 
claimed '  And  yet  you  remained  President ! ' ' 

Angela's  violet  eyes  glowed. 

"  He  was  not  allowed  to  remain  President,"  she  said. 

"  No,  he  was  not.  He  died.  Certainly !  And  I  know 
you  think  he  would  not  have  died  if  he  had  done  his  best 
to  clear  the  character  of  an  innocent  man.  To  women 
of  your  type,  it  always  seems  as  if  God — the  Large  Per- 
son up  above — stepped  in  exactly  at  the  right  moment.  It 
would  really  appear  as  if  it  were  so  at  times.  But  such 
things  are  mere  coincidences." 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  coincidences,"  said  Angela  deci- 
sively, "  I  do  not  believe  in  '  chance  '  or  '  luck  ',  or  what 
you  call  '  fortuitous  '  haphazard  arrangements  of  any  sort. 
I  think  everything  is  planned  by  law  from  the  beginning ; 
even  to  the  particular  direction  in  which  a  grain  of  dust 
floats  through  space.  It  is  ^all  mathematical  and  exact. 
And  the  moving  Spirit — the  Divine  Centre  of  things, 


98  The  Master-Christian. 

whom  I  call  God, — cannot  dislodge  or  alter  one  particle 
of  the  majestic  system  without  involving  the  whole  in 
complete  catastrophe.  It  is  our  mistake  to  '  chance ' 
things — at  least,  so  I  think.  And  if  I  exclaim  against  you 
and  say, — "  Why  do  you  remain  in  the  Church  ? '  it  is  be- 
cause I  cannot  understand  a  man  of  conscience  and  in- 
tellect outwardly  professing  one  thing  while  inwardly  he 
means  another.  Because  God  will  take  him  in  the  end  at 
his  own  interior  valuation,  not  at  his  outward  seeming." 

"  Uncomfortable,  if  true,"  said  the  Abbe,  still  smiling. 
"  When  one  has  been  at  infinite  pains  all  one's  life  to  pre- 
sent a  charmingly  virtuous  and  noble  aspect  to  the  world, 
it  would  be  indeed  distressing  if  at  the  last  moment  one 
were  obliged  to  lift  the  mask  .  .  .  " 

"  Sometimes  one  is  not  given  the  chance  to  lift  it," 
interposed  Angela,  "  It  is  torn  off  ruthlessly  by  a  force 
greater  than  one's  own.  '  Call  no  man  happy  till  his 
death,'  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  and  the  Abbe  settled  himself  in  his 
chair  more  comfortably; — he  loved  an  argument  with 
"  the  Sovrani  ",  and  was  wont  to  declare  that  she  was  the 
only  woman  in  the  world  who  had  ever  made  him  wish  to 
be  a  good  man, — "  But  that  maxim  can  be  taken  in  two 
ways.  It  may  mean  that  no  man  is  happy  till  his  death, — 
which  I  most  potently  believe, — or  it  may  mean  thai  a  man 
is  only  fudged  after  his  death,  in  which  case  it  cannot  be 
said  to  affect  his  happiness,  as  he  is  past  caring  whether 
people  think  ill  or  well  of  him.  Besides,  after  death  it 
must  needs  be  all  right,  as  every  man  is  so  particularly 
fortunate  in  his  epitaph !  " 

Angela  smiled  a  little. 

"  That  is  witty  of  you,"  she  said,  "  but  the  fact  of 
every  man  having  a  kindly-worded  epitaph  only  proves 
goodness  of  heart  and  feeling  in  his  relatives  and 
friends " 

"  Or  gratitude  for  a  fortune  left  to  them  in  his  will," 
declared  the  Abbe  gaily,  "  or  a  sense  of  relief  that  the 
dear  creature  has  gone  and  will  never  come  back.  Either 
motive,  would,  I  know,  inspire  me  to  write  most  pathetic 
verses!  Now  you  bend  your  charming  brows  at  me, — 
mea  culpa!  I  have  said  something  outrageous?  " 

"  Not  from  the  point  of  view  at  which  you  take  life," 
said  Angela  quietly,  "  but  I  was  just  then  thinking  of  a 


The  Master-Christian.  99 

cousin  of  mine, — a  very  beautiful  woman;  her  husband 
treated  her  with  every  possible  sort  of  what  I  should  term 
civil  cruelty, — polite  torture — refined  agony.  If  he  had 
struck  her  or  shot  her  dead  it  would  have  been  far  kinder. 
But  his  conduct  was  worse  than  murder.  He  finally  de- 
serted her,  and  left  her  penniless  to  fight  her  own  wax- 
through  the  world.  Then  he  died  suddenly,  and  she  forgot 
all  his  faults,  spoke  of  him  as  though  he  had  been  a  model 
of  goodness,  and  lives  now  for  his  memory,  ever  mourn- 
ing his  loss.  In  her  case  the  feeling  of  regret  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  money,  for  he  spent  all  her  fortune  and 
left  her  nothing  even  of  her  own.  She  has  to  work  hard 
for  her  living  now, — but  she  loves  him  and  is  as  true  to 
him  as  if  he  were  still  alive.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  the  lady  in  question  must  be  a  charming 
person !  "  replied  the  Abbe,  "  Perfectly  charming !  But 
of  course  she  is  deceiving  herself ;  and  she  takes  pleasure 
in  the  self-deception.  She  knows  that  the  man  had  de- 
serted her  and  was  quite  unworthy  of  her  devotion ; — but 
she  pretends  to  herself  that  she  does  not  know.  And  it 
it  is  charming,  of  course !  But  women  will  do  that  kind 
of  thing.  It  is  extraordinary, — but  they  will.  They  all 
deceive  themselves  in  matters  of  love.  Even  you  deceive 
yourself." 

Angela  started. 

"  I  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes — you — why  not  ?  "  And  the  Abbe  treated  her  to 
one  of  his  particularly  paternal  smiles.  "  You  are  be- 
trothed to  Florian  Varillo, — but  no  man  ever  had  or  ever 
could  have  all  the  virtues  with  which  you  endow  this  ex- 
cellent Florian.  He  is  a  delightful  creature, — a  good 
artist — unique  in  his  own  particular  line, — but  you  think 
him  something  much  greater  than  even  artist  or  man — 
a  sort  of  god,  (though  the  gods  themselves  were  not  im- 
peccable) only  fit  to  be  idealised.  Now,  I  am  not  a  be- 
liever in  the  gods, — but  of  course  it  is  delightful  to  me 
to  meet  those  who  are." 

"  Signer  Varillo  needs  neither  praise  nor  defence,"  said 
Angela  with  a  slight  touch  of  hauteur,  "  All  the  world 
knows  what  he  is." 

"  Yes,  precisely !  That  is  just  it. — all  the  world  knows 
what  he  is, — "  and  the  Abbe  rubbed  his  forehead  with 
an  air  of  irritation,  "  And  I  am  vexing  you  by  my  talk, 


ioo  The  Master-Christian. 

I  can  see !  Well,  well ! — You  must  forgive  my  garrulity  , 
— I  admit  my  faults — I  am  old — I  am  a  cynic — I  talk  too 
much — I  have  a  bad  opinion  of  man,  and  an  equally  bad 
opinion  of  the  Forces  that  evolved  him.  By  the  way, 
I  met  that  terrible  reformer  and  socialist  Aubrev  Leigh 
at  the  Embassy  the  other  day — the  man  who  is  making 
such  a  sensation  in  England  with  his  '  Addresses  to  the 
People.'  He  is  quite  an  optimist,  do  you  know?  He 
believes  in  everything  and  everybody, — even  in  me !  " 

Angela  laughed,  and  her  laughter  sweet  and  low, 
thrilled  the  air  with  a  sense  of  music. 

"  That  is  wonderful !  "  she  said  gaily, — "  Even  in  you ! 
And  how  does  he  manage  to  believe  in  you,  Monsieur 
1'Abbe?  Do  tell  me!" 

A  little  frown  wrinkled  the  Abbe's  brow. 

"  Well !  in  a  strange  way,"  he  responded.  "  You  know 
he  is  a  very  strange  man  and  believes  in  very  strange 
things.  When  I  treat  humanity  as  a  jest — which  is  really 
how  it  should  be  treated — he  looks  at  me  with  a  grand  air 
of  tolerance,  '  Oh,  you  will  progress ;'  he  says,  '  You  are 
passing  through  a  phase.'  '  My  dear  sir,'  I  assure  him, 
'  I  have  lived  in  this  "  phase  ",  as  you  call  it,  for  forty 
years.  I  used  to  pray  to  the  angels  and  saints  and  to  all 
the  different  little  Madonnas  that  live  in  different  places, 
till  I  was  twenty.  Then  I  dropped  all  the  pretty  heaven- 
toys  at  once ; — and  since  then  I  have  believed  in  nothing 
— myself,  least  of  all.  Now  I  am  sixty — and  yet  you  tell 
me  I  am  only  passing  through  a  phase.'  *  Quite  so,'  he 
answered  me  with  the  utmost  coolness,  '  Your  forty  years 
— or  your  sixty. years,  are  a  Moment  merely; — the  Mo- 
ment will  pass — arid  you  will  find  another  Moment  com- 
ing which  will  explain  the  one  which  has  just  gone. 
Nothing  is  simpler.'  And  when  I  ask  him  which  will  be 
the  best  Moment, — the  one  that  goes,  'or  the  one  that 
comes — he  says  that  I  am  making  the  coming  Moment 
for  myself — '  which  is  so  satisfactory '  he  adds  with  that 
bright  smile  of  his,  '  because  of  course  you  will  make  it 
pleasant ! '  '//  faut  que  tout  homme  trouve  pour  lui  incme 
une  possibilite  particuliere  de  vie  superienre  dans  I' hum- 
ble et  inevitable  realite  quotidienne.'  I  do  not  find  the 
'  possibilitc  particuliere  ' — but  this  man  assures  me  it  is 
because  I  do  not  trouble  to  look  for  it.  What  do  you 
think  about  it?" 


The  Master-Christian.  101 

Angela's  eyes  were  full  of  dreamy  musing. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Leigh's  ideas  are  beautiful,"  she  said, 
slowly,  "  I  have  often  heard  him  talk  on  the  subject  of 
religion — and  of  art,  and  of  work, — and  all  he  says  seems 
to  be  the  expression  of  a  noble  and  sincere  mind.  He 
is  extraordinarily  gifted." 

"  Yes, — and  he  is  becoming  rather  an  alarming  per- 
sonage in  England,  so  I  hear, —  "  returned  the  Abbe — 
"  He  writes  books  that  are  distinctly  dangerous,  because 
true.  He  wants  to  upset  shams  like  our  Socialist  writer 
Gys  Grandit.  Gys  Grandit,  you  know,  will  never  be  sat- 
isfied till,  like  Rousseau,  he  has  brought  about  another 
French  Revolution.  He  is  only  a  peasant,  they  say,  but 
he  writes  with  the  pen  of  a  prophet.  And  this  English- 
man is  of  the  same  calibre, — only  his  work  is  directed 
against  religious  hypocrisies  more  than  social  ones.  I 
daresay  that  is  why  I  always  feel  so  uneasy  in  his  pres- 
ence! "  And  Vergniaud  laughed  lightly.  "  For  the  rest, 
he  is  a  brilliant  creature  enough,  and  thoroughly  manly. 
The  other  evening  at  the  Club  that  little  Vicomte  de 
Lorgne  was  chattering  in  his  usual  offensive  manner  about 
women,  and  Leigh  astonished  everyone  by  the  way  in 
which  he  pulled  him  up.  There  was  almost  a  very  pretty 
quarrel, — but  a  stray  man  happened  to  mention  casually, 
— that  Leigh  was  considered  one  of  the  finest  shots  in 
England.  After  that  the  dear  Vicomte  vanished,  and  did 
not  return." 

Angela  laughed. 

"  Poor  de  Lorgne !  Yes — I  have  heard  that  Mr.  Leigh 
excels  in  everything  that  is  distinctly  English — riding, 
shooting,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  He  is  not  effeminate." 

"  Few  Englishmen  are,"  said  the  Abbe, — "  And  yet  to 
my  mind  there  is  something  not  altogether  English  in  this 
man.  He  has  none  of  the  heavy  British  mental  and  phys- 
ical stolidity.  He  is  strong  and  muscular  certainly, — 
but  also  light  and  supple, — and  with  that  keen,  intellectual 
delicate  face  of  his,  he  is  more  of  the  antique  Greek  type 
than  like  a  son  of  Les  Isles  Sans-Soleil." 

"  Sans-Soleil,"  echoed  Angela,  "  But  there  is  plenty 
of  sunshine  in  England !  " 

"  Is  there?  Well,  I  have  been  unfortunate, — I  have 
never  seen  any, — "  and  the  Abbe  gave  a  shrug  of  half  re- 
gret, half  indifference.  "  It  is  very  curious  the  effect  that 


IO2  The  Master-Christian. 

this  so  brave  England  has  upon  me !  In  crossing  to  its 
shores  I  suffer  of  course  from  the  inal  de  mer — then 
when  I  arrive  exhausted  to  the  white  cliffs,  it  is  generally 
raining — then  1  take  train  to  London,  where  it  is  what 
is  called  black  fog;  and  I  find  all  the  persons  that  I  meet 
either  with  a  cold,  or  going  to  have  a  cold,  or  just  recov- 
ering from  a  cold !  It  is  not  lively — the  very  funerals  are 
dull.  And  you — this  is  not  your  experience?  " 

"  No — frankly  I  cannot  say  it  is,"  replied  Angela,  "  I 
have  seen  rain  and  fog  in  Rome  that  cannot  be  surpassed 
for  wretchedness  anywhere.  Italy  is  far  more  miserable 
in  cold  weather  than  England.  I  passed  a  summer  once  in 
England,  and  it  was  to  me  like  a  glimpse  of  Paradise.  I 
never  saw  so  many  flowers — I  never  heard  so  many  birds 
— (you  know  in  Italy  we  kill  all  the  singing  birds  and  eat 
them),  and  I  never  met  so  many  kind  and  gentle  people." 

"  Well ! — perhaps  the  religious  sects  in  England  are 
responsible  for  the  general  feeling  of  depression  in  the 
English  atmosphere,"  said  the  Abbe  with  a  light  laugh, 
"  They  are  certainly  foggy !  The  one  round  Sun  of  one 
Creed  is  unknown  to  them.  I  assure  you  it  is  best  to  have 
one  light  of  faith,  even  though  it  be  only  a  magic  lantern, 
— a  toy  to  amuse  the  children  of  this  brief  life  before  their 

everlasting  bedtime  comes "  He  broke  off  abruptly 

as  a  slow  step  was  heard  approaching  along  the  passage, 
and  in  another  moment  Cardinal  Bonpre  entered  the 
room. 

"  Ah,  le  bien  aime  Felix !  "  cried  Vergniaud,  hastening 
to  meet  him  and  clasp  his  outstretched  hand,  bowing 
slightly  over  it  as  he  did  so,  "  I  have  taken  the  liberty 
to  wait  for  you,  cher  Monseigneur,  being  anxious  to  see 
you — and  I  understand  your  stay  in  Paris  will  not  be 
long?" 

"  A  few  days  at  most,  my  dear  Abbe  ", — replied  the 
Cardinal,  gently  pressing  the  hand  of  Vergniaud  and 
smiling  kindly.  "  You  are  well  ?  But  surely  I  need  not 
ask — you  seem  to  be  in  the  best  of  health  and  spirits." 

"  Ah,  my  seeming  is  always  excellent,"  returned  the 
Abbe,  "  However,  I  do  not  fare  badly.  I  have  thrown 
away  all  hard  thinking !  " 

"  And  you  are  happier  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  am  not  quite  sure !  There  is  undoubtedly  a 
pleasure  in  analysing  the  perplexities  of  one's  own  mind. 


The  Master-Christian.  103 

Still,  on  the  whole,  it  is  perhaps  better  to  enjoy  the  pres- 
ent hour  without  any  thought  at  all." 

"  Like  the  butterflies !  "  laughed  Angela. 

"  Yes, — if  butterflies  do  enjoy  their  hour, — which  I 
am  not  at  all  prepared  to  admit.  In  my  opinion  they  are 
very  dissatisfied  creatures, — no  sooner  on  one  flower  than 
off  they  go  to  another.  Very  like  human  beings  after 
all !  But  I  imagine  they  never  worry  themselves  with 
philosophical  or  religious  questions." 

"  And  do  you  ?  "  enquired  Bonpre,  smiling,  as  he  sat 
down  in  the  easy  chair  his  niece  placed  for  him. 

"  Not  as  a  rule ! — "  answered  Vergniaud  frankly,  with 
a  light  laugh — "  But  I  confess  I  have  done  a  little  in  that 
way  lately.  Some  of  the  new  sciences  puzzle  me, — I  am 
surprised  to  find  how  closely  they  approach  to  the  fulfil- 
ment of  old  prophecies.  One  is  almost  inclined  to  believe 
that  there  must  be  a  next  world  and  a  future  life." 

"  I  think  such  belief  is  now  placed  beyond  mere  in- 
clination," said  the  Cardinal — "  There  is  surely  no  doubt 
of  it." 

Vergniaud  gave  him  a  quick  side-glance  of  earnest 
scrutiny. 

"  With  you,  perhaps  not — "  he  replied — "  But  with 
me, —  well ! — it  is  a  different  matter.  However,  it  is 
really  no  use  worrying  one's  self  with  the  question  of 
'  To  be,  or  not  to  be.'  It  drove  Hamlet  mad,  just  as  the 
knotty  point  as  to  whether  Hamlet  himself  was  fat  or 
lean  nearly  killed  our  hysterical  little  boy,  Catullus 
Mendes.  It's  best  to  leave  eternal  subjects  like  God  and 
Shakespeare  alone." 

He  laughed  again,  but  the  Cardinal  did  not  smile. 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you,  Vergniaud,"  he  said — "  I 
fear  it  is  because  we  do  not  think  sufficiently  for  our- 
selves on  the  One  eternal  subject  that  so  much  mischief 
threatens  us  at  the  present  time.  To  take  gifts  and  ignore 
the  Giver  is  surely  the  blackest  ingratitude,  yet  that  is 
what  the  greater  part  of  humanity  is  guilty  of  in  these 
days.  Never  was  there  so  much  beholding  and  yet  ignor- 
ing of  the  Divine  as  now.  Science  is  searching  for  God, 
and  is  getting  closer  to  Him  every  day; — the  Church 
remains  stationary  and  refuses  to  look  out  beyond  her 
own  pale  of  thought  and  conventional  discipline.  I 
know, — "  and  the  Cardinal  hesitated  a  moment,  "  I  know 


IO4  The  Master-Christian. 

I  can  speak  quite  plainly  to  you,  for  you  are  what  is  called 
a  freethinker — yet  I  doubt  whether  you  are  really  as  free 
as  you  imagine !  " 

The  Abbe  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  imagine  nothing !  "  he  declared  airily,  "  Everything 
is  imagined  for  me  nowadays, — and  imagination  itself  is 
like  a  flying  Geni  which  overtakes  and  catches  the  hair  of 
some  elusive  Reality  and  turns  its  face  round,  full-shin- 
ing on  an  amazed  world !  " 

"  A  pretty  simile !  "  said  Angela  Sovrani,  smiling. 

"  Is  it  not  ?  Almost  worthy  of  Paul  Verlaine  who  was 
too  '  inspired '  to  keep  either  his  body  or  his  soul  clean. 
Why  was  I  not  a  poet !  Hclas! — Fact  so  much  outweighs 
fancy  that  it  is  no  longer  any  use  penning  a  sonnet  to  one's 
mistress's  eyebrow.  One  needs  to  write  with  thunder- 
bolts in  characters  of  lightning,  to  express  the  wonders 
and  discoveries  of  this  age.  When  I  find  I  can  send  a 
message  from  here  to  London  across  space,  without  wires 
or  any  visible  means  of  communication, — and  when  I  am 
told  that  probably  one  of  these  days  I  shall  be  able  at 
will  to  see  the  person  to  whom  I  send  the  message,  re- 
flected in  space  while  the  message  is  being  delivered, — I 
declare  myself  so  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  fairy  prod- 
igies revealed  to  me,  that  I  have  really  no  time,  and 
perhaps  no  inclination  to  think  of  any  other  world  than 
this  one." 

"  You  are  wrong,  then,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  Very 
wrong,  Vergniaud.  To  me  these  discoveries  of  science, 
this  apparent  yielding  of  invisible  forces  into  human 
hands,  are  signs  and  portents  of  terror.  You  remember 
the  line  '  the  powers  of  heaven  shall  be  shaken  '  ?  Those 
powers  are  being  shaken  now !  We  cannot  hold  them 
back ; — they  are  here,  with  us ; — but  they  mean  much 
more  than  mere  common  utility  to  our  finite  selves.  They 
are  the  material  declarations  of  what  is  spiritual.  They' 
are  the  scientific  proofs  that  Christ's  words  to  '  this  gen- 
eration,' namely,  this  particular  phase  of  creation, — are 
true.  '  Blessed  are  they  which  have  not  seen  and  yet  be- 
lieved,' He  said ; — and  many  there  are  who  have  passed 
away  from  us  in  rapt  faith  and  hone,  believing  not  see- 
ing, and  with  whom  we  may  rejoice  in  spirit,  knowing 
that  all  must  be  well  with  them.  But  now — now  we  are 
come  upon  an  age  of  doubt  in  the  world — doubt  which 


The  Master-Christian.  105 

corrodes  and  kills  the  divine  spirit  in  man,  and  there- 
fore we  are  being  forced  to  see  that  we  may  believe, — but 
the  seeing  is  terrible !  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  in  the  very  beholding  of  things  we  remain 
blind !  "  answered  the  Cardinal,  "  Our  intense  selfishness, 
obscures  the  true  light  of  every  fresh  advance.  \v'e  ac- 
cept new  marvels  of  knowledge,  as  so  much  practical  use 
to  us,  and  to  the  little  planet  we  live  on, — but  we  do  not 
see  that  they  are  merely  reflections  of  the  Truth  from 
which  they  emanate.  The  toy  called  the  biograph,  which 
reflects  pictures  for  us  in  a  dazzling  and  moving  con- 
tinuity, so  that  we  can  see  scenes  of  human  life  in  action, 
is  merely  a  hint  to  us  that  every  scene  of  every  life  is  re- 
flected in  a  ceaseless  moving  panorama  Somewhere  in  the 
Universe,  for  the  beholding  of  Someone, — yes  ! — there 
must  be  Someone  who  so  elects  to  look  upon  everything, 
or  such  possibilities  of  reflected  scenes  would  not  be, — 
inasmuch  as  nothing  exists  without  a  Cause  for  exist- 
ence. The  wireless  telegraphy  is  a  stupendous  warning  of 
the  truth  that  '  from  God  no  secrets  are  hid  ',  and  also 
of  the  prophecy  of  Christ  '  there  is  nothing  covered  that 
shall  not  be  revealed ' — and,  '  whatsoever  ye  have  spoken 
in  darkness  shall  be  revealed  in  light.'  The  latter  words 
are  almost  appalling  in  their  absolute  accord  with  the 
latest  triumphant  discoveries  of  science." 

Abbe  Vergniaud  looked  at  the  Cardinal,  and  slightly 
raised  his  eyebrows  in  a  kind  of  wondering  protest. 

"  Tres-saint  Felix!  "  he  murmured,  "  Are  you  turning 
into  a  mystic?  One  of  those  doubtful  personages  wha 
are  seeking  to  reconcile  science  with  the  Church? " 

"  Stop !  "  interposed  the  Cardinal,  raising  his  hand  with 
an  eloquent  gesture,  "  Science  is,  or  should  be,  the 
Church ! — science  is  Truth,  and  Truth  is  God !  God  can- 
not be  found  anywhere  in  a  lie ;  and  the  Church  in  many 
ways  would  make  our  Divine  Redeemer  Himself  a  lie 
were  it  not  that  His  words  are  every  day  taking  fresh 
meaning,  and  bringing  new  and  solemn  conviction  to 
those  who  have  eyes  to  see  and  ears  to  hear !  " 

He  spoke  as  if  carried  beyond  himself, — his  pale  cheeks 
glowed, — his  eyes  flashed  fire, — and  the  combined  effect 
of  his  words  and  manner  was  startling  to  the  Abbe,  and 
in  a  way  stupefying  to  his  niece  Angela.  She  had  never 


io6  The  Master-Christian. 

heard  him  give  utterance  to  such  strong  sentiments  before, 
and  she  shrank  a  little  within  herself,  wondering  whether 
as  a  Cardinal  of  the  Roman  Church  he  had  not  been  too 
free  of  speech.  She  glanced  apprehensively  at  Vergniaud, 
who  however  only  smiled  a  little. 

"  If  you  should  be  disposed  to  express  yourself  in  such 
terms  at  the  Vatican, — "  he  began. 

The  Cardinal  relapsed  into  his  usual  calm,  and  met 
the  Abbe's  questioning,  half  cynical  glance  composedly. 
"  I  have  many  things  to  speak  of  at  the  Vatican," 
he  answered, — "  This  matter  will  probably  be  one  of 
them." 

"  Then "  But  whatever  Vergniaud  was  about  to 

say  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  boy  Manuel, 
who  at  that  moment  came  into  the  room  and  stood  beside 
the  Cardinal's  chair.  The  Abbe  gave  him  an  upward 
glance  of  surprise  and  admiration. 

"  Whom  have  we  here  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  "  One  of  your 
acolytes,  Monseigneur  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  Cardinal,  his  eyes  resting  on  the 
fair  face  of  the  lad  with  a  wistful  affection,  "  A  little 
stray  disciple  of  our  Lord, — to  whom  I  have  ventured  to 
offer  protection.  There  is  none  to  question  my  right  to  do 
so,  for  he  is  quite  alone  in  the  world." 

And  in  a  few  words  he  related  how  he  had  discovered 
the  boy  on  the  previous  night,  weeping  outside  the  Cathe- 
dral in  Rouen.  Angela  Sovrani  listened  attentively,  her 
violet  eyes  darkening  and  deepening  as  she  heard, — now 
and  then  she  raised  them  to  look  at  the  youthful  waif  who 
stood  so  quietly  while  the  story  of  his  troubles  was  told 
in  the  gentle  and  sympathetic  way  which  was  the  Car- 
dinal's usual  manner  of  speech,  and  which  endeared  him 
so  much  to  all.  "  And  for  the  present,"  finished  Bonpre, 
smiling — "  he  stays  with  me,  and  already  I  have  found 
him  skilled  in  the  knowledge  of  many  things, — he  can 
read  Scripture  with  a  most  musical  and  clear  emphasis, — 
and  he  is  a  quick  scribe,  so  that  he  will  be  valuable  to 
me  in  more  ways  than  one." 

"  Ah !  "  and  the  Abbe  turned  himself  round  in  his 
chair  to  survey  the  boy  more  attentively,  "  You  can  read 
Scripture?  But  can  you  understand  it?  If  you  can,  you 
are  wiser  than  I  am !  " 

Manuel  regarded  him  straightly. 


The  Master-Christian.  107 

"  Was  it  not  once  said  in  Judaea  that  "  it  is  the  Spirit 
that  quickeneth '?"  he  asked. 

"  True  ! — And  from  that  you  would  infer    ...    ?  " 

"  That  when  one  cannot  understand  Scripture,  it  is 
perhaps  for  the  reason  that  '  the  letter  killeth,  because 
lacking  the  Spirit  that  giveth  life." 

The  boy  spoke  gently  and  with  grace  and  modesty, — 
but  something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  had  a  strange  effect 
on  the  cynical  temperament  of  Abbe  Vergniaud. 

"  Here,"  he  mused,  "  is  a  lad  in  whom  the  principle  of 
faith  is  strong  and  pure, — shall  I  drop  the  poison  of 
doubt  into  the  open  flower  of  his  mind,  or  leave  it  un- 
contaminated  ?  "  Aloud  he  said,  kindly, 

"  You  speak  well, — you  have  evidently  thought  for 
yourself.  Who  taught  you  to  recognise  '  the  Spirit  that 
giveth  life  '  ?  " 

Manuel  smiled. 

"Does  that  need  teaching?"  he  asked. 

Radiance  shone  in  his  eyes, — the  look  of  purity  and 
candour  on  his  young  face  was  infinitely  touching  to  the 
two  men  who  beheld  it, — the  one  worn  with  age  and 
physical  languors,  the  other  equally  worn  in  mind,  if  not 
in  body.  In  the  brief  silence  which  followed, — a  silence 
of  unexpressed  feeling, — a  soft  strain  of  organ-music 
came  floating  deliciously  towards  them, — a  delicate  thread 
of  grave  melody  which  wove  itself  in  and  out  the  air- 
spaces, murmuring  suggestions  of  tenderness  and  ap- 
peal. Angela  smiled,  and  held  up  one  finger,  listening. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Leigh !  "  she  said,  "  He  is  in  my  studio 
improvising." 

"  Happy  Mr.  Leigh !  "  said  the  Abbe  with  a  little  ma- 
licious twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  To  be  allowed  to  improvise  at 
all  in  the  studio  of  the  Sovrani ! " 

Angela  flushed,  and  lifted  her  fair  head  with  a  touch 
of  pride. 

"  Mr.  Leigh  is  a-  friend,"  she  said,  "  He  is  welcome  in 
the  studio  always.  His  criticism  of  a  picture  is  valuable, 
— besides — he  is  a  celebrated  Englishman ! "  She 
laughed,  and  her  eyes  flashed. 

"  Ah !  To  a  celebrated  Englishman  all  things  are  con- 
ceded !  "  said  the  Abbe  satirically,  "  Even  the  right  to 
enter  the  sanctum  of  the  most  exclusive  lady  in  Europe ! 
Is  it  not  a  curious  thing  that  the  good  Britannia  appears 


io8  The  Master-Christian. 

to  stick  her  helmet  on  the  head,  and  put  her  sceptre  in  the 
hand  of  every  one  of  her  sons  who  condescends  to  soil 
his  boots  by  walking  on  foreign  soil?  With  the  helmet 
he  defies  the  gendarme, — with  the  sceptre  he  breaks  open 
every  door, — we  prostrate  ourselves  before  his  face  and 
curse  him  behind  his  back, — c'est  drole! — yet  we  are  all 
alike,  French,  Germans,  Austrians,  and  Italians ; — we 
hate  the  Englishman,  but  we  black  his  boots  all  the  same, 
— which  is  contemptible  of  us, — mais,  que  fair  el  He  is 
so  overwhelming  in  sheer  impudence !  With  culture  and 
politeness  we  might  cross  swords  in  courtly  duel, — but 
in  the  presence  of  absolute  bluff,  or  what  is  called  '  cheek  ', 
we  fall  flat  in  sheer  dismay !  What  delicious  music !  I 
see  that  it  charms  our  young  friend, — he  is  fond  of 
music." 

"  Yes,"  said  Manuel  speaking  for  himself  before  any 
question  could  be  put  to  him,  "  I  love  it !  It  is  like  the 
fresh  air, — full  of  breath  and  life." 

"  Come  then  with  me,"  said  Angela,  "  Come  into  the 
studio  and  we  will  hear  it  more  closely.  Dearest  uncle," 
and  she  knelt  for  a  moment  by  the  Cardinal's  chair, 
"  Will  you  come  there  also  when  Monsieur  TAbbe  has 
finished  talking  with  you  ?  " 

Cardinal  Bonpre's  hand  rested  lovingly  on  her  soft 
hair. 

"  Yes,  my  child,  I  will  come."  And  in  a  lower  tone  he 
added, — "  Do  not  speak  much  to  Manuel, — he  is  a  strange 
lad;  more  fond  of  silence  and  prayer  than  other  things, 
— and  if  such  is  his  temperament  I  would  rather  keep 
him  so." 

Angela  bowed  her  head  in  acquiescence  to  this  bidding, 
— then  rising,  left  the  room  with  a  gentle  gesture  of  in- 
vitation to  the  boy,  who  at  once  followed  her.  As  the 
two  disappeared  a  chill  and  a  darkness  seemed  to  fall 
upon  the  air,  and  the  Cardinal  sank  back  among  the 
cushions  of  his  fauteuil  with  a  deep  sigh  of  utter  exhaus- 
tion. Abbe  Vergniaud  glanced  at  him  inquisitively. 

"  You  are  very  tired,  I  fear?  "  he  said. 

"  Physically,  no, — mentally,  yes.  Spiritually,  I  am  cer- 
tainly fatigued  to  the  death." 

The  Abbe  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Helas!  There  is  truly  much  in  spiritual  matters  to 
engender  weariness !  "  he  said. 


The  Master-Christian.  109 

With  a  sudden  access  of  energy  the  Cardinal  gripped 
both  arms  of  his  chair  and  sat  upright. 

"  For  God's  sake,  do  not  jest,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  Do 
not  jest!  We  have  all  been  jesting  too  long,  and  the  time 
is  near  when  we  shall  find  out  the  bitter  cost  of  it! 
Levity — carelessness — doubt  and  final  heresy — I  do  not 
mean  heresy  against  the  Church,  for  that  is  nothing " 

"  Nothing !  "  exclaimed  the  Abbe,  "  You  say  this  ?  " 

"  I  say  it !  "  And  Bonpre's  thin  worn  features  grew 
transfigured  with  the  fervour  of  his  thought.  "  I  am  a 
priest  of  the  Church — but  I  am  also  a  man ! — with  reason, 
with  brain,  and  with  a  love  of  truth ; — and  I  can  faith- 
fully say  I  have  an  almost  jealous  honour  for  my  Master 
— but  I  repeat,  heresy  against  the  Church  is  nothing, — 
it  is  heresy  against  Christ  which  is  the  crime  of  the  age, 
— and  in  that,  the  very  Church  is  heretic !  Heresy  against 

Christ ! Heresy  against  Christ !  A  whole  system  of 

heresy !  '  I  never  knew  you, — depart  from  me,  ye  work- 
ers of  iniquity,'  will  be  our  Lord's  words  at  the  Last 
Judgment !  " 

The  Abbe's  wonderment  increased.  He  looked  down 
a  moment,  then  looked  up,  and  a  quizzical,  half-melan- 
choly expression  filled  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  am  very  much  concerned  in  all  this,"  he  said, 
"  I  wanted  to  have  a  private  talk  with  you  on  my  own 
account,  principally  because  I  know  you  to  be  a  good 
man,  while  I  am  a  bad  one.  I  have  a  trouble  here, — "  and 
he  touched  the  region  of  his  heart,  "  which  the  wise  doc- 
tors say  may  end  my  days  at  any  moment;  two  years  at 
the  utmost  is  the  ultimatum  of  my  life,  so  I  want  to  know 
from  you,  whom  I  know  to  be  intelligent  and  honest, 
whether  you  believe  I  am  going  to  another  existence, — 
and  if  so,  what  sort  of  a  one  you  think  is  in  prospect  for 
such  a  man  as  I  am  ?  Now  don't  pity  me,  my  dear  Bon- 
pre, — don't  pity  me ! — "  and  he  laughed  a  little  huskily 
as  the  Cardinal  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  with  a  silent 
sympathy  more  eloquent  than  words,  "  We  must  all  die, 
— and  if  I  am  to  go  somewhat  sooner  than  I  expected, 
that  is  nothing  to  compassionate  me  for.  But  there  is 
just  a  little  uncertainty  in  my  mind, — I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  death  is  the  end — I  wish  I  could  be  quite  positive  of 
the  fact.  I  was  once — quite  positive.  But  science,  instead 
of  giving  me  this  absolute  comfort,  has  in  its  later  progress 


no  The  Master-Christian. 

upset  all  my  former  calculations,  and  I  am  afraid  I  must 
own  that  there  is  indubitably  Something  Else, — which 
to  my  mind  seems  distinctly  disagreeable !  " 

Though  the  Abbe  spoke  lightly,  the  troubled  look  re- 
mained in  his  eyes  and  the  Cardinal  saw  it. 

"  My  dear  Vergniaud,"  he  began  gently,  "  I  am  grieved 
at  what  you  tell  me — " 

"  No,  don't  be  grieved,"  interrupted  Vergniaud,  "  be- 
cause that  is  not  it.  Talk  to  me!  Tell  me  what  you 
truly  think.  That  this  life  is  only  a  schoolroom  where 
we  do  our  lessons  more  or  less  badly? — That  death  is 
but  the  name  for  another  life?  Now  do  not  force  your 
faith  for  me.  Tell  me  your  own  honest  conviction.  Do 
we  end? — or  do  we  begin  again?  Be  frank  and  fair  and 
true ;  according  to  the  very  latest  science,  remember ! — 
not  according  to  the  latest  hocus-pocus  of  twelfth-century 
mandate  issued  from  Rome.  You  see  how  frank  I  am, 
and  how  entirely  I  go  with  you.  But  I  am  going  further 
than  you, — I  am  bound  for  the  last  voyage — so  you  must 
not  offer  me  the  wrong  pass-word  to  the  shore !  " 

"  No,  I  will  give  you  the  right  pass-word,"  said  the 
Cardinal,  a  fervid  glow  of  enthusiasm  lighting  up  his 
features.  "It  is  Christ  in  all,  and  through  all !  Christ 
only ; — Christ,  the  friend  and  brother  of  man ; — the  only 
Divine  Teacher  this  world  has  ever  had,  or  ever  will 
have !  " 

"  You  believe  in  Him  really, — truly, — then  ?  "  ex- 
claimed the  Abbe  wonderingly. 

"  Really — truly,  and  with  all  my  heart  and  soul !  "  re- 
sponded the  Cardinal  firmly, — "  Surely,  you  too,  be- 
lieve?" 

"  No,"  said  the  Abbe  firmly,  "  I  do  not !  I  would  as 
soon  believe  that  the  lad  you  have  just  rescued  from  the 
streets  of  Rouen  is  divine,  as  that  there  is  any  divinity 
in  the  Man  of  Nazareth  !  " 

He  rose  up  as  he  spoke  in  a  kind  of  petulance, — then 
started  slightly  as  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
Manuel.  The  boy  had  entered  noiselessly  and  stood  for  a 
moment  glancing  from  one  priest  of  the  Church  to  the 
other.  A  faint  smile  was  on  his  face, — his  blue  eyes 
were  full  of  light. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  my  lord  Cardinal  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  Cardinal  looked  up. 


The  Master-Christian.  1 1 1 

"  No,  my  child !  " 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you.  If  you  should  need  me,  I  am 
close  at  hand." 

He  went  away  as  quietly  as  he  had  entered ;  and  the 
same  silence  followed  his  departure  as  before, — a  silence 
which  was  only  disturbed  by  the  occasional  solemn  and 
sweet  vibrations  of  the  distant  music  from  the  studio. 


vm. 

"  A  STRANGE  lad!  "  said  Abbe  Vergniaud,  abruptly. 

"  Strange  ?  In  what  way  do  you  find  him  so  ?  "  asked 
the  Cardinal  with  a  touch  of  anxiety. 

The  Abbe  knitted  his  brows  perplexedly,  and  took  a 
short  turn  up  and  down  the  room.  Then  he  laughed. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  cannot  tell  you !  "  he  declared,  with 
one  of  those  inimitable  gestures  common  to  Frenchmen, 
a  gesture  which  may  mean  anything  or  nothing, — "  But 
he  speaks  too  well,  and,  surely,  thinks  too  much  for  his 
years.  Is  there  nothing  further  to  tell  of  him  save  what 
you  have  already  said?  Nothing  that  you  know  of  him, 
beyond  the  plain  bare  fact  of  having  found  him  weeping 
alone  outside  the  doors  of  the  Cathedral  ?  " 

"  Nothing  indeed !  "  replied  the  Cardinal  bewildered. 
"  What  else  should  there  be  ?  " 

The  Abbe  hesitated  a  moment,  and  when  he  spoke 
again  it  was  in  a  softer  and  graver  tone. 

"  Forgive  me !  Of  course  there  could  be  nothing  else 
with  you.  You  are  so  different  to  all  other  Churchmen  I 
have  ever  known.  Still,  the  story  of  your  foundling  is 
exceptional ; — you  will  own  that  it  is  somewhat  out  of 
the  common  course  of  things,  for  a  Cardinal  to  suddenly 
constitute  himself  the  protector  and  guardian  of  a  small 
tramp — for  this  boy  is  nothing  else.  Now,  if  it  were  any 
other  Cardinal-Archbishop  than  yourself,  I  should  at  once 
say  that  His  Eminence  knew  exactly  where  to  find  the 
mother  of  his  protege !  " 

"  Vergniaud  !  "  exclaimed  the  Cardinal. 

"  Forgive  me !  I  said  '  forgive  me  '  as  a  prelude  to  my 
remarks,"  resumed  Vergniaud,  "  I  am  talking  profanely, 
sceptically,  and  cynically, — I  am  talking  precisely  as  the 
world  talks,  and  as  it  always  will  talk." 

"  The  world  may  talk  itself  out  of  existence,  before 
it  can  hinder  me  from  doing  what  I  conceive  to  be  my 
duty,"  said  Felix  Bonpre,  calmly,  "  The  lad  is  alone  and 


The  Master-Christian.  113 

absolutely  friendless, — it  is  but  fitting  and  right  that  I 
should  do  what  I  can  for  him." 

Abbe  Vergniaud  sat  down,  and  for  a  moment  appeared 
absorbed  in  thought. 

"  You  are  a  curious  man ;"  he  at  length  observed, 
"And  a  more  than  curious  priest!  Here  you  are,  assum- 
ing the  guardianship  of  a  boy  concerning  whom  you 
know  nothing, — when  you  might  as  well  have  handed 
him  over  to  one  of  the  orphanages  for  the  poor,  or  have 
paid  for  his  care  and  education  with  some  of  the  mo- 
nastic brethren  established  near  Rouen, — but  no ! — you 
being  eccentric,  feel  as  if  you  were  personally  responsi- 
ble to  God  for  the  child,  simply  because  you  found  him 
lost  and  alone,  and  therefore  you  have  him  with  you. 
It  is  very  good  of  you, — we  will  call  it  great  of  you — but 
it  is  not  usual.  People  will  say  you  have  a  private  motive ; 
— you  must  remember  that  the  world  never  gives  you 
credit  for  doing  a  good  action  simply  for  the  pure  sake 
of  doing  it, — '  There  must  be  something  behind  it  all/ 
they  say.  When  the  worst  cocotte  of  the  age  begins  to 
lose  her  beauty,  the  prospect  is  so  alarming  that  she 
thinks  there  may  be  a  possible  hell,  after  all,  and  she 
straightway  becomes  charitable  and  renowned  for  good 
works ; — precisely  in  the  same  way  as  our  famous  stage 
'  stars  ',  knowing  their  lives  to  be  less  clean  than  the 
lives  of  their  horses  and  their  dogs,  give  subscriptions  and 
altar-cloths  and  organs  to  the  clergy.  It  is  all  very 
amusing ! — I  assure  you  I  have  often  laughed  at  it.  It  is 
as  if  they  took  Heaven  by  its  private  ear  in  confidence, 
and  said,  '  See  now,  I  want  to  put  things  straight  with 
you  if  I  can ! — and  if  a  few  church-ornaments,  and  can- 
dlesticks will  pacify  you,  why,  take  them  and  hold  your 
tongue !  ' : 

He  paused,  but  the  Cardinal  was  silent. 

"  I  know,"  went  on  the  Abbe,  "  that  you  think  I  am 
indulging  in  the  worst  kind  of  levity  to  talk  in  this  way. 
It  sounds  horrible  to  you.  And  you  perhaps  think  I  can- 
not be  serious.  My  dear  Saint  Felix,  there  never  was  a 
more  serious  man  than  I.  I  would  give  worlds — uni- 
verses— to  believe  as  you  do!  I  have  written  books  of 
religious  discussion, — not  because  I  wanted  the  notice  of 
the  world  for  them, — for  that  I  do  not  care  about, — but 
for  the  sake  of  wrestling  out  the  subject  for  myself,  and 


114  The  Master-Christian. 

making  my  pen  my  confidant.  I  tell  you  I  envy  the  wo- 
man who  can  say  her  rosary  with  the  simple  belief  that 
the  Virgin  Mary  hears  and  takes  delight  in  all  those  repe- 
titions. Nothing  would  have  given  me  greater  pleasure 
than  to  have  composed  a  volume  of  prayers, — a  '  Garland 
of  Flowers  ' — such  as  an  innocent  girl  could  hold  in  her 
hands,  and  bend  her  sweet  eyes  over.  It  would  have 
been  a  taste  of  the  sensual-spiritual,  or  the  spiritual- 
sensual, — which  is  the  most  exquisite  of  all  human  sensa- 
tions." 

"  There  is  no  taint  of  sensuality  in  the  purely  spiritual," 
said  the  Cardinal  reprovingly. 

"  Not  for  your  nature, — no !  You  have  made  your 
body  like  a  transparent  scabbard  through  which  the  glit- 
ter of  the  soul-sword  is  almost  visible.  But  I  am  dif- 
ferent. I  am  so  much  of  a  materialist  that  I  like  to  pull 
down  Heaven  to  the  warm  bosom  of  Earth  and  make 
them  mingle.  You  would  lift  up  Earth  to  Heaven !  Ah, 
that  is  difficult !  Even  Christ  came  down !  It  is  the  chief 
thing  I  admire  in  Him,  that  He  '  descended  from  Heaven 
and  was  made  Man '.  Tres  cher  Felix,  I  shall  bewilder 
you  to  death  with  my  specious  and  frivolous  reasoning, — 
and  after  all,  I  had  much  better  come  to  the  main  fact  of 
what  I  intended  to  tell  you, — a  sort  of  confession  out  of 
church.  You  know  I  have  already  told  you  I  am  going 
to  die  soon,  and  that  I  am  a  bad  man  confessedly  and 
hopelessly, — but  among  other  things  is  this,  (and  if  you 
can  give  me  any  advice  upon  it  I  will  take  it,)  that  for 
the  last  four  or  five  years  I  have  been  dodging  about  to 
escape  being  murdered, — not  because  I  particularly  mind 
being  murdered,  because  I  probably  deserve  it, — and  one 
way  of  exit  is  as  good  as  another, — but  because  I  want 
to  save  the  would-be  murderer  from  committing  his  crime. 
Is  not  that  a  good  motive  ?  " 

Cardinal  Bonpre  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment.  Vergn- 
iaud  appeared  to  him  in  an  entirely  new  light.  He  had 
always  known  him  as  a  careless,  cynical-tempered  man ;- — 
a  close  thinker, — a  clever  writer,  and  a  brilliant  talker, — 
and  he  had  been  inclined  to  consider  him  as  a  "  society  " 
priest, — one  of  those  amiable  yet  hypocritical  personages, 
who,  by  the  most  Jesuitical  flatteries  and  studied  delica- 
cies of  manner,  succeed  in  influencing  weak-minded  per- 
sons of  wealth,  (especially  women)  to  the  end  of  secur- 


The  Master-Christian.  115 

ing  vast  sums  of  money  to  the  Church, — obtaining  by 
these  means  such  rank  and  favour  for  themselves  as  would 
otherwise  never  have  been  granted  to  them.  But  now 
the  Abbe's  frank  admission  of  his  own  sins  and  failings 
seemed  a  proof  of  his  inherent  sincerity, — and  sincerity, 
whether  found  in  orthodoxy  or  heterodoxy,  always  com- 
manded the  Cardinal's  respect. 

"  Are  you  speaking  in  parables  or  in  grave  earnest  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  Do  you  really  mean  that  you  are  shadowed 
by  some  would-be  assassin  ?  An  assassin,  too,  whom  you 
actually  wish  to  protect  ?  " 

"  Exactly !  "  And  Vergniaud  smiled  with  the  air  of 
one  who  admits  the  position  to  be  curious  but  by  no 
means  alarming.  "  I  want  to  save  him  from  the  guillo- 
tine ;  and  if  he  murders  me  I  cannot !  It  is  a  question  of 
natural  instinct  merely.  The  would-be  assassin  is  my 
son !  " 

Cardinal  Bonpre  raised  his  clear  blue  eyes  and  fixed 
them  full  on  the  Abbe. 

"  This  is  a  very  serious  matter,"  he  said  gently,  "  Surely 
it  is  best  to  treat  it  seriously  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  serious  enough,  God  knows !  "  returned 
Vergniaud,  with  a  heavy  but  impatient  sigh,  "  I  suppose 
there  is,  there  must  be,  some  terribly  exact  Mathematician 
concerned  in  the  working  of  things,  else  a  man's  past 
sins  and  failings  being  done  with  and  over,  would  not 
turn  up  any  more.  But  they  do  turn  up, — the  unseen 
Mathematician  counts  every  figure ; — and  of  course  trou- 
ble ensues.  My  story  is  simply  this ; — Some  twenty-five 
years  ago  I  was  in  Touraine ; — I  was  a  priest  as  I  am 
now — Oh,  yes! — the  sin  is  as  black  as  the  Church  can 
make  it! — and  one  mid-summer  evening  I  strolled  into 
a  certain  quaint  old  church  of  a  certain  quaint  old  town, — 
I  need  not  name  it — and  saw  there  a  girl,  as  sweet  as  an 
apple  blossom,  kneeling  in  front  of  the  altar.  I  watched 
her, — I  see  her  now! — the  late  sunlight  through  the 
stained  glass  window  fell  like  a  elory  on  her  pretty  hair, 
and  on  the  little  white  kerchief  folded  so  daintily  across 
her  bosom,  and  on  her  small  hands  and  the  brown  rosary 
that  was  twisted  round  her  fingers.  She  was  praying, 
so  she  told  me  afterwards,  to  her  guardian  angel, — I 
wonder  what  that  personage  was  about  just  then,  Bonpre ! 
Anyhow,  to  her  petition  came  no  answer  but  a  devil, — a 


ii6  The  Master-Christian. 

devil  personified  in  me, — I  made  her  love  me, — I  tempted 
her  by  every  subtle  and  hellish  persuasion  I  could  think 
of, — I  can  never  even  now  think  of  that  time  without 
wondering  where  all  the  eloquent  evil  of  my  tongue  came 

from and — well ! — she  never  was  able  to  ask  the 

guardian  angel  any  more  favours  !  And  I  ? 1  think  I 

loved  her  for  a  while, — but  no,  I  am  not  sure ; — I  believe 
there  is  no  such  good  thing  as  absolute  love  in  my  com- 
position. Anyway,  I  soon  left  Touraine,  and  had  almost 
forgotten  her  when  she  wrote  to  tell  me  of  the  birth  of 
her  child — a  son.  J.  gave  her  no  reply,  and  then  she 
wrote  again, — such  a  letter ! — such  words  !  At  the  mo- 
ment they  burnt  me, — stabbed  me — positively  hurt  me, — 
and  I  was  not  then  easily  hurt.  She  swore  she  would 
bring  the  boy  up  to  curse  his  father, — and,  to  put  it  quite 
briefly, — she  did.  She  died  when  he  was  twenty,  and  it 
now  appears  the  lad  took  an  oath  by  her  death-bed  that 
he  would  never  rest  till  he  had  killed  the  man  who  had 
dishonoured  his  mother,  and  broken  her  heart,  and 
brought  him  into  the  world  with  a  stigma  on  his  name. 
No  filial  respect,  you  see !  "  And  Vergniaud  tried  to  force 
a  smile.  "  To  do  the  boy  justice,  he  apparently  means  to 
keep  his  oath, — he  has  not  rested ;  he  has  been  at  infinite 
pains  to  discover  me ;  he  has  even  been  at  the  trouble  to 
write  me  a  warning  letter,  and  is  now  in  Paris  watching 
me.  I,  in  my  turn,  take  care  to  protect  myself; — I  am 
followed  by  detectives,  and  am  at  enormous  pains  to  guard 
my  life ;  not  for  my  own  sake  but  for  his.  An  odd  com- 
plication of  circumstances,  is  it  not?  I  cannot  have  him 
arrested  because  he  would  at  once  relate  his  history,  and 
my  name  would  be  ruined.  And  that  would  be  quite  as 
good  a  vengeance  for  him  as  the  other  thing.  You  will 
admit  that  it  is  a  very  dramatic  situation !  " 

"  It  is  a  retribution !  "  said  the  Cardinal  in  a  low  voice, 
"  And  a  terrible  one !  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is.  I  imagined  you  would  consider 
it  in  that  light,"  and  Vergniaud  half  closed  his  eyes, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  languidly,  "  But  here  I  am, 
willing  to  set  things  as  straight  as  I  can,  and  it  really 
seems  impossible  to  arrange  matters.  I  am  to  die  soon, 
according  to  the  doctors ; — and  so  I  have  made  my  will, 
leaving  evervthing  I  possess  to  this  ridiculous  bov  who 
wishes  to  kill  me ;  and  it  is  more  than  probable  that  he, — 


The  Master-Christian.  1 1 7 

considering  how  he  has  been  brought  up  and  educated — 
will  cast  all  the  money  into  the  dirt,  and  kick  at  my 
grave.  But  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Xothing,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  You  can  do  nothing, 
Vergniaud !  That  is  the  worst  of  having  inflicted  a 
wrong  upon  the  innocent, — you  can  never  by  any  means 
retrieve  it.  You  can  repent, — and  it  is  probable  that 
your  very  repentance  ensures  your  forgiveness  at  a  higher 
tribunal  than  that  of  earth's  judgment, — but  the  results 
of  wrong  cannot  be  wiped  out  or  done  away  with  in  this 
life  ; — they  continue  to  exist,  and  alas  ! — often  multiply. 
Even  the  harsh  or  unjust  word  cannot  be  recalled,  and 
however  much  we  may  regret  having  uttered  it,  somehow 
it  is  never  forgotten.  But — "  here  leaning  forward,  he 
laid  one  hand  gently  on  Vergniaud's  arm,  "  My  dear 
friend — my  dear  brother — you  have  told  me  of  your  sin; 
— it  is  a  great  sin, — but  God  forbid  that  I  should  presume 
to  judge  you  harshly  when  our  Lord  Himself  declared 
that  '  He  came  not  to  call  the  righteous  but  sinners  to  re- 
pentance '.  It  may  be  that  I  can  find  a  way  to  help  you. 
Arrange  for  me  to  see  this  misguided  son  of  yours, — and 
I  will  endeavour  to  find  a  means  of  restitution  to  him  and 
to  the  memory  of  his  mother  before  you  pass  away  from 
us, — if  indeed  you  are  to  pass  away  so  soon.  Under  the 
levity  you  assume  I  perceive  you  have  deep  feeling  on 
this  matter; — you  shall  not  die  with  a  wrong  on  your 
soul,  Yergniaud  ! — you  shall  not  if  I  can  prevent  it !  For 
there  undoubtedly  is  another  life ;  you  must  go  into  it  as 
purely  as  prayer  and  penitence  can  make  you." 

"  I  thought,"  said  the  Abbe,  speaking  somewhat  un- 
steadily, "  that  you  might  when  you  heard  all,  hurl  some 
of  Rome's  thunderous  denunciations  upon  me  .  .  .  " 

"  \Yhat  am  I,  and  what  is  Rome,  compared  with  the 
Master's  own  word?  "  said  the  Cardinal  gently.  "  If  our 
brothers  sin  against  us  seventy  times  seven  we  are  still 
to  forgive,  and  they  are  still  our  brothers !  Denuncia- 
tions, judgments  and  condemnations  of  one  another  are 
not  any  part  of  our  Lord's  commands." 

Yergniaud  rose  up  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  \Yill  you  take  it,"  he  said,  "  as  a  pledge  that  I  will 
faithfully  do  whatever  you  may  see  fitting  and  right  to 
retrieve  the  past? — and  to  clear  my  son's  soul  from  the 
thirst  of  vengeance  which  is  consuming  it  ?  " 


1 1 8  The  Master-Christian. 

Cardinal  Bonpre  clasped  the  extended  hand  warmly. 

"  There  is  your  answer !  "  he  said,  with  a  smile  which 
irradiated  his  fine  countenance  with  an  almost  supernat- 
ural beauty  and  tenderness,  "  You  have  sinned  against 
Heaven,  and  you  have  sinned  against  the  Church  and 
your  own  calling, — but  the  greatest  sinner  can  do  no 
more  than  repent  and  strive  to  make  amends.  For  I  see 
you  fully  know  and  comprehend  the  extent  of  your  sin." 

'''  Yes,  I  know  it,"  and  Vergniaud's  eyes  were  clouded 
and  his  brows  knitted,  "  I  know  it  only  too  well !  Greater 
than  any  fault  of  Church-discipline  is  a  wrong  to  human 
life, — and  I  wronged  and  betrayed  an  innocent  woman 
who  loved  me !  Her  soul  was  as  sweet  as  the  honey-cup 
of  a  flower, — I  poisoned  it.  That  was  as  bad  as  poison- 
ing the  Sacrament!  I  should  have  kept  it  sweet  and 
pure ;  I  should  have  let  the  Church  go,  and  been  honest ! 
I  should  have  seen  to  it  that  the  child  of  my  love  grew 
up  to  honour  his  father, — not  to  merely  live  for  the  mur- 
der of  him !  Yes ! — I  know  what  I  should  have  done 

I  know  what  I  have  not  done and  I  am  afraid  I  shall 

always  know!  Unless  I  can  do  something  to  atone  I 
have  a  strange  feeling  that  I  shall  pass  from  this  world 
to  the  next — and  that  the  first  thing  I  shall  see  will  be 
her  face !  Her  face  as  I  saw  it  when  the  sunshine  made 
a  halo  round  her  hair,  and  she  prayed  to  her  guardian 
angel." 

He  shuddered  slightly,  and  his  voice  died  away  in  a 
half  whisper.  The  Cardinal  pressed  his  hand  again 
warmly  and  tenderly. 

"  Courage,  courage !  "  he  said.  "  It  is  true  we  cannot 
do  away  with  our  memories, — but  we  can  try  and  make 
them  sweet.  And  who  knows  how  much  God  may  help 
us  in  the  task  ?  Never  forget  the  words  that  tell  us  how 
'  the  angels  rejoice  more  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth 
than  over  ninety  and  nine  just  persons.'  " 

"  Ah !  "  and  the  Abbe  smiled,  recovering  somewhat  of 
his  usual  manner,  "  And  that  is  so  faithfully  enforced 
upon  us,  is  it  not?  The  Churches  are  all. so  lenient? 
And  Society  is  so  kind? — so  gentle  in  its  estimate  of  its 
friends?  Our  Church,  for  example,  has  never  perse- 
cuted a  sinner? — has  never  tortured  an  unbeliever?  It 
has  been  so  patient,  and  so  unwearying  in  searching  for 
stray  sheep  and  bringing  them  back  with  love  and  ten- 


The  Master-Christian.  119 

derness  and  pity  to  the  fold?  And  Churchmen  never 
say  anything  which  is  slanderous  or  cruel?  And  we  all 
follow  Christ's  teaching  so  accurately?  Yes! — Ah  well 
— I  wonder !  I  wonder  what  will  be  the  end !  I  wonder 
why  we  came  into  life  at  all — I  wonder  why  we  go !  For- 
tunately for  me,  by  and  by,  there  will  be  an  end  of  all 
wondering,  and  you  can  write  above  my  tomb,  '  Implora 
pace  ' !  The  idea  of  commencing  a  new  life  is  to  me,  hor- 
rible,— I  prefer  '  Nirvana  '  or  nothingness.  Never  have 
I  read  truer  words  than  those  of  Byron, 

'  Count  o'er  the  joys  thine  hours  have  seen, 
Count  o'er  thy  days  from  anguish  free, 
And  know  whatever  thou  hast  been, 
'Tis  something  better  not  to  be.'" 

"  I  cannot  think  that  is  either  true  or  good  philosophy,'* 
said  the  Cardinal,  "  It  is  merely  the  utterance  of  a  disap- 
pointed man  in  a  misanthropic  mood.  There  is  no  '  not 
to  be  '  in  creation.  Each  morning  that  lights  the  world 
is  an  expression  of  '  to  be  ' !  And  however  much  we  may 
regret  the  fact,  my  dear  Vergniaud,  we  find  ourselves  in 
a  state  of  being  and  we  must  make  the  best  of  it, — not 
the  worst.  Is  that  not  so  ?  " 

His  look  was  gentle  and  commanding, — his  voice  soft 
yet  firm, — and  the  worldly  Abbe  felt  somewhat  like  a 
chidden  child  as  he  met  the  gaze  of  those  clear  true  eyes 
that  were  undarkened  by  any  furtive  hypocrisies  or 
specious  meanings. 

"  I  suppose  it  is,  but  unfortunately  I  have  made  the 
worst  of  it,"  he  answered,  "  and  having  made  the  worst 
I  see  no  best.  Who  is  that  singing  ?  " 

He  lifted  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  attention  as  a 
rich  mezzo-soprano  rang  out  towards  them, — 

"  Per  carita 
Mostrami  il  cielo  ; 
Tulto  e  un  velo, 
£  non  si  sa 
Dove  e  il  cielo. 
Se  si  sta 
Cosi  cola, 
Non  si  sa 
Se  non  si  va. 

Ahi  me  lontano  ! 

Tulto  e  in  vano  ! 

PrenHimi  in  mano 
Per  carita!" 


I2O  The  Master-Christian. 

"  It  is  Angela,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  She  has  a  wonder- 
fully sweet  voice." 

"  Prendimi  in  mano, 
Per  carita  ! " 

murmured  Abbe  Vergniaud,  still  listening,  "  It  is  like 
the  cry  of  a  lost  soul !  " 

"  Or  a  strayed  one,"  interposed  the  Cardinal  gently, 
and  rising,  he  took  Vergniaud's  arm,  and  leaned  upon  it 
with  a  kindly  and  familiar  grace,  an  action  which  im- 
plied much  more  than  the  mere  outward  expression  of 
confidence,—"  Nothing  is  utterly  lost,  my  dear  friend. 
'  The  very  hairs  of  our  head  are  numbered,' — not  a  drop 
of  dew  escapes  to  waste, — how  much  more  precious  than 
a  drop  of  dew  is  the  spirit  of  a  man !  " 

"  It  is  not  so  unsullied,"  declared  Vergniaud,  who 
loved  controversy, — "  Personally,  I  think  the  dew  is  more 
valuable  than  the  soul,  because  so  absolutely  clean !  " 

"  You  must  not  bring  every  line  of  discussion  to  a 
pin's  point,"  said  Bonpre  smiling,  as  he  walked  slowly 
across  the  room  still  leaning  on  the  Abbe's  arm.  "  We 
can  reduce  our  very  selves  to  the  bodiless  condition  of  a 
dream  if  we  take  sufficient  pains  first  to  advance  a  theory, 
and  then  to  wear  it  threadbare.  Nothing  is  so  deceptive 
as  human  reasoning, — nothing  so  slippery  and  reversible 
as  what  we  have  decided  to  call  '  logic.'  The  truest  com- 
pass of  life  is  spiritual  instinct." 

"  And  what  of  those  who  have  no  spiritual  instinct  ?  " 
demanded  Vergniaud. 

"  I  do  not  think  there  are  any  such.  To  us  it  cer- 
tainly often  seems  as  if  there  were  masses  of  human  be- 
ings whose  sole  idea  of  living  is  to  gratify  their  bodily 
needs, — but  I  fancy  it  is  only  because  we  do  not  know 
them  sufficiently  that  we  judge  them  thus.  Few,  if  any, 
are  so  utterly  materialistic  as  never  to  have  had  some 
fleeting  intuition  of  the  Higher  existence.  They  may 
lack  the  force  to  comprehend  it,  or  to  follow  its  teaching, 
— but  in  my  opinion,  the  Divine  is  revealed  to  all  men 
once  at  least  in  their  lives." 

They  had  by  this  time  passed  out  of  the  drawing-room, 
and  now,  ascending  three  steps,  they  went  through  a 
curtained  recess  into  Angela  Sovrani's  studio, — a  large 
and  lofty  apartment  made  beautiful  by  the  picturesque 


The  Master-Christian.  121 

disorder  and  charm  common  to  a  great  artist's  surround- 
ings. Here,  at  a  grand  piano  sat  Angela  herself,  her 
song  finished,  her  white  hands  straying  idly  over  the 
keys, — and  near  her  stood  the  gentleman  whom  the  Abbe 
Vergniaud  had  called  "  a  terrible  reformer  and  Socialist  " 
and  who  was  generally  admitted  to  be  something  of  a 
remarkable  character  in  Europe.  Tall  and  fair,  with  very 
bright  flashing  eyes,  and  a  wonderfully  high  bred  air  of 
concentrated  pride  and  resolution,  united  to  a  grace  and 
courtesy  which  exhaled  from  him,  so  to  speak,  with  his 
ever\T  movement  and  gesture,  he  was  not  a  man  to  pass  by 
without  comment,  even  in  a  crowd.  A  peculiar  distinc- 
tiveness  marked  him, — out  of  a  marching  regiment  one 
would  have  naturally  selected  him  as  the  commanding 
officer,  and  in  any  crisis  of  particular  social  importance  or 
interest  his  very  appearance  would  have  distinguished  him 
as  the  leading  spirit  of  the  whole.  On  perceiving  the 
Cardinal  he  advanced  at  once  to  be  presented,  and  as  An- 
gela performed  the  ceremony  of  introduction  he  slightly 
bent  one  knee,  and  bowed  over  the  venerable  prelate's  ex- 
tended hand  with  a  reverence  which  had  in  it  something 
of  tenderness.  His  greeting  of  Abbe  Vergniaud  was, 
while  perfectly  courteous,  not  quite  so  marked  by  the 
grace  of  a  strong  man's  submission. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Leigh !  So  you  have  not  left  Paris  as  soon 
as  you  determined  ?  "  queried  the  Abbe  with  a  smile,  "  I 
thought  you  were  bound  for  Florence  in  haste  ?  " 

"  I  go  to  Florence  to-morrow,"  answered  Leigh 
briefly. 

"  So  soon !  I  am  indeed  glad  not  to  have  missed  you," 
said  Cardinal  Bonpre  cordially.  "  Angela,  my  child,  let 
me  see  what  you  have  been  doing.  All  your  canvases 
are  covered,  or  turned  with  their  faces  to  the  wall ; — are 
we  not  permitted  to  look  at  any  of  them  ?  " 

Angela  immediately  rose  from  the  piano,  and  wheeled 
a  large  oaken  chair  with  a  carved  and  gilded  canopy,  into 
the  centre  of  the  studio. 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  see  my  sketches — and  they  are 
only  sketches,"  she  said, — "  you  must  come  and  sit  here. 
Now,"  as  her  uncle  obeyed  her,  "  you  look  enthroned  in 
state, — that  canopy  is  just  fitted  for  you,  and  you  are  a 
picture  in  yourself !— Yes,  you  are,  dearest  uncle!  And 
not  all  the  artists  in  the  world  could  ever  do  you  justice  i 


122  The  Master-Christian. 

Monsieur  1'Abbe,  will  you  sit  just  where  you  please? — 
And  Mr.  Leigh,  you  have  seen  everything,  so  it  does  not 
matter." 

"  It  matters  very  much,"  said  Leigh  with  a  smile,  "  For 
I  want  to  see  everything  again.  If  I  may,  I  will  stand 
here." 

And  he  took  up  his  position  close  to  the  Cardinal's 
chair. 

"  But  where  is  the  boy  ?  "  asked  Vergniaud,  "  Where  is 
the  foundling  of  the  Cathedral  ?  " 

"  He  left  us  some  minutes  ago,"  said  Angela,  "  He 
went  to  your  room,  uncle." 

"  Was  he  pleased  with  the  music?  "  asked  the  Cardinal. 

"  I  think  he  enjoyed  every  note  of  it,"  said  Leigh,  "  A 
thoughtful  lad !  He  was  very  silent  while  I  played, — but 
silence  is  often  the  most  eloquent  appreciation." 

"  Are  we  to  be  silent  then  over  the  work  of  Donna 
Sovrani  ?  "  enquired  the  Abbe  gaily.  "  Must  we  not  ex- 
press our  admiration  ?  " 

"  If  you  have  any  admiration  to  express,"  said  Angela 
carelessly,  setting,  as  she  spoke,  an  easel  facing  the  Car- 
dinal ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  you  will  greatly  disapprove  of 
me  and  condemn  all  my  work  this  year.  I  should  ex- 
plain to  you  first  that  I  am  composing  a  very  large  pic- 
ture,— I  began  it  in  Rome  some  three  years  ago,  and  it  is 
in  my  studio  there, — but  I  require  a  few  French  types  of 
countenance  in  order  to  quite  complete  it.  The  sketches 
I  have  made  here  are  French  types  only.  They  will  all 
be  reproduced  in  the  larger  canvas — but  they  are  roughly 
done  just  now.  This  is  the  first  of  them.  I  call  it  '  A 
Servant  of  Christ,  at  the  Madeleine,  Paris.'  " 

And  she  placed  the  canvas  she  held  on  the  easel  and 
stood  aside,  while  all  three  men  looked  at  it  with  very 
different  eyes, — one  with  poignant  regret  and  pain, — the 
other  with  a  sense  of  shame, — and  the  third  with  a  thrill 
of  strong  delight  in  the  power  of  the  work,  and  of  triumph 
in  the  lesson  it  gave. 


IX. 

Low  beetling  brows, — a  sensual,  cruel  mouth  with  a 
loosely  projecting  under-lip, — eyes  that  appeared  to  be 
furtively  watching  each  other  across  the  thin  bridge  of 
nose, — a  receding  chin  and  a  narrow  cranium,  combined 
with  an  expression  which  was  hypocritically  humble,  yet 
sly, — this  was  the  type  Angela  Sovrani  had  chosen  to  de- 
lineate, sparing  nothing,  softening  no  line,  and  introduc- 
ing no  redeeming  point, — a  type  mercilessly  true  to  the 
life ;  the  face  of  a  priest, — "  A  servant  of  Christ,"  as  she 
called  him.  The  title,  united  with  that  wicked  and  re- 
pulsive countenance,  was  a  terribly  significant  suggestion. 
For  some  minutes  no  one  spoke, — and  the  Cardinal  was 
the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Angela, — my  dear  child  '' — he  said,  in  low,  strained 
tones,  "  I  am  sorry  you  have  done  this !  It  is  powerful 
— so  powerful  that  it  is  painful  as  well.  It  cuts  me  to 
the  heart  that  you  should  find  it  necessary  to  select  such 
an  example  of  the  priesthood,  though  of  course  I  am 
not  in  the  secret  of  your  aims — I  do  not  understand  your 
purpose  .  .  .  " 

He  broke  off, — and  Angela,  who  had  stood  silent,  look- 
ing as  though  she  were  lost  in  a  dream,  took  up  his  un- 
finished sentence. 

"  You  do  not  understand  my  purpose  ? — Dearest  uncle, 
I  hardly  understand  it  myself !  Some  force  stronger  than 
I  am,  is  urging  me  to  paint  the  picture  I  have  begun, — 
some  influence  more  ardent  and  eager  than  my  own, 
burns  like  a  fever  in  me,  persuading  me  to  complete  the 
design.  You  blame  me  for  choosing  such  an  evil  type  of 
priest  ?  But  there  is  no  question  of  choice !  These  faces 
are  ordinary  among  our  priests.  At  all  the  churches,  Sun- 
day after  Sunday  I  have  looked  for  a  good,  a  noble  face ; 
— in  vain  !  For  an  even  commonly-honest  face, — in  vain ! 
And  my  useless  search  has  ended  by  impressing  me 
with  profound  sorrow  and  disgust  that  so  many  low 
specimens  of  human  intellect  are  selected  as  servants 
of  our  Lord.  Do  not  judge  me  too  severely!  I  feel 
that  I  have  a  work  to  do, — and  a  lesson  to  give  in 

"3 


124  The  Master-Christian. 

the  work,  when  done.  I  may  fail; — I  may  be  told 
that  as  a  woman  I  have  no  force,  and  no  ability 
to  make  any  powerful  or  lasting  impression  on  this 
generation ; — but  at  any  rate  I  feel  that  I  must  try ! 
If  priests  of  the  Church  were  like  you,  how  different  it 
would  all  be !  But  you  always  forget  that  you  are  an  ex- 
ception to  the  rule, — you  do  not  realise  how  very  excep- 
tional you  are !  I  told  you  before  I  showed  you  this  sketch 
that  you  would  probably  disapprove  of  it  and  condemn 
me, — but  I  really  cannot  help  it.  In  this  matter  nothing — 
not  even  the  ban  of  the  Church  itself,  can  deter  me  from 
fulfilling  what  I  have  designed  to  do  in  my  own  soul !  " 

She  spoke  passionately  and  with  ardour, — and  the  Car- 
dinal looked  at  her  with  something  of  surprise  and  trou- 
ble. The  fire  of  genius  is,  as  he  knew,  a  consuming  one, 
— and  he  had  never  entirely  realized  how  completely  it 
filled  and  dominated  this  slight  feminine  creature  for 
whom  he  felt  an  almost"  paternal  tenderness.  Before  he 
could  answer  her  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  spoke. 

"  Donna  Sovrani  is  faithful  to  the  truth  in  her  sketch," 
he  said,  "  therefore,  as  a  lover  of  truth  I  do  not  see,  my 
dear  Bonpre,  why  you  should  object !  If  she  has, — as  she 
says, — some  great  aim  in  view,  she  must  fulfil  it  in  her 
own  way.  I  quite  agree  with  her  in  her  estimate  of  the 
French  priests, — they  are  for  the  most  part  despicable- 
looking  persons, — only  just  a  grade  higher  than  their 
brothers  of  Italy  and  Spain.  But  what  would  you  have  ? 
The  iron  hand  of  Rome  holds  them  back  from  progress, 
— they  are  speaking  and  acting  lies ;  and  like  the  stage- 
mimes,  have  to  put  on  paint  and  powder  to  make  the  lies 
go  down.  But  when  the  paint  and  powder  come  off, 
the  religious  mime  is  often  as  ill-looking  as  the  stage  one ! 
Donna  Sovrani  has  caught  this  particular  example,  be- 
fore he  has  had  time  to  put  on  holy  airs  and  turn  up  the 
footlights.  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Mr.  Leigh  ?  " 

"  I  think,  as  I  have  always  thought,"  said  Leigh/ 
quietly,  "  that  Donna  Sovrani  is  an  inspired  artist, — and 
that  being  inspired  it  follows  that  she  must  carry  out  her 
own  convictions  whether  they  suit  the  taste  of  others  or 
not.  '  A  Servant  of  Christ '  is  a  painful  truth,  boldly  de- 
clared." 

Angela  was  unmoved  by  the  compliment  implied.  She 
6nly  glanced  wistfully  at  the  Cardinal,  who  still  sat  si- 


The  Master-Christian.  125 

lent.  Then  without  a  word  she  withdrew  the  offending 
sketch  from  the  easel  and  set  another  in  its  place. 

"  This,"  she  said  gently,  "  is  the  portrait  of  an  Arch- 
bishop. I  need  not  name  his  diocese.  He  is  very  wealthy, 
and  excessively  selfish.  I  call  this,  '  Lord,  I  thank  thee 
that  I  am  not  as  other  men  '." 

Vergniaud  laughed  as  he  looked, — he  knew  the  pic- 
tured dignitary  well.  The  smooth  countenance,  the  little 
eyes  comfortably  sunken  in  small  rolls  of  fat,  the  smug 
smiling  lips,  the  gross  neck  and  heavy  jaw, — marks  of 
high  feeding  and  prosperous  living, — and  above  all  the 
perfectly  self-satisfied  and  mock-pious  air  of  the  man, — 
these  points  were  given  with  the  firm  touch  of  a  master's 
brush,  and  the  Abbe,  after  studying  the  picture  closely, 
turned  to  Angela  with  a  light  yet  deferential  bow. 

"  Chere  Sovrani,  you  are  stronger  than  ever !  Surely 
you  have  improved  much  since  you  were  last  in  Paris? 
Your  strokes  are  firmer,  your  grasp  is  bolder.  Have 
your  French  confreres  seen  your  work  this  year?" 

"  Xo,"  replied  Angela,  "  I  am  resolved  they  shall  see 
nothing  till  my  picture  is  finished." 

"May   one   ask  why?" 

A  flash  of  disdain  passed  over  the  girl's  face. 

"  For  a  very  simple  reason !  They  take  my  ideas  and 
use  them, — and  then,  when  my  work  is  produced  they  say 
it  is  /  who  have  copied  from  them,  and  that  women  have 
no  imagination !  I  have  been  cheated  once  or  twice  in 
that  way, — this  time  no  one  has  any  idea  what  I  am 
doing." 

'  Xo  one?     Xot  even  Signer  Varillo?" 

"  No,"  said  Angela,  smiling  a  little,  "  Not  even  Signor 
Varillo.  I  want  to  surprise  him." 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  asked  the  Cardinal,  rousing  himself 
from  his  pensive  reverie. 

Angela  blushed. 

"  By  proving  that  perhaps,  after  all,  a  woman  can  do 
a  great  thing  in  art, — a  really  great  thing !  "  she  said, 
"  Designed  greatly,  and  greatly  executed." 

"  Does  he  not  admit  that,  knowing  you?  "  asked  Aubrey 
Leigh  suggestively. 

"  Oh,  he  is  most  kind  and  sympathetic  to  me  in  my 
work,"  explained  Angela  quickly,  vexed  to  think  that  she 
had  perhaps  implied  some  little  point  that  was  not  quite 


126  .  The  Master-Christian. 

in  her  beloved  one's  favour.  "  But  he  is  like  most  men, — 
they  have  a  preconceived  idea  of  women,  and  of  what 
their  place  should  be  in  the  world — " 

"  Unchanged  since  the  early  phases  of  civilization,  when 
women  were  something  less  valuable  than  cattle  ?  "  said 
Leigh  smiling. 

"  Oh,  the  cattle  idea  is  not  exploded,  by  any  means !  " 
put  in  Vergniaud.  "  In  Germany  and  Switzerland,  for 
example,  look  at  the  women  who  are  ground  down  to  toil 
and  hardship  there !  The  cows  are  infinitely  prettier  and 
more  preferable,  and  lead  much  pleasanter  lives.  And 
the  men  lor  wiiom  these  poor  wretched  women  work, 
lounge  about  in  cafes  all  day,  smoking  and  playing  dom- 
inoes. The  barbaric  arrangement  that  a  woman  should  be 
a  man's  drudge  and  chattel  is  quite  satisfactory,  I  think, 
to  the  majority  of  our  sex.  It  is  certainly  an  odd  condi- 
tion of  things  that  the  mothers  of  men  should  suffer 
most  from  man's  cruelty.  But  it  is  the  work  of  an  all- 
wise  Providence,  no  doubt;  and  you,  Mr.  Leigh,  will 
swear  that  it  is  all  right !  " 

"  It  is  all  right,"  said  Leigh  quietly,  "  or  rather  I  should 
say,  it  will  be  all  right, — and  it  would  have  been  all  right 
long  ago,  if  we  had,  as  Emerson  puts  it,  '  accepted  the 
hint  of  each  new  experience.'  But  that  is  precisely  what 
we  will  not  do.  Woman  is  the  true  helpmate  of  man,  and 
takes  a  natural  joy  in  being  so  whenever  we  will  allow 
it, — whenever  we  will  give  her  scope  for  her  actions, 
freedom  for  her  intelligence,  and  trust  for  her  instincts. 
But  for  the  present  many  of  us  still  prefer  to  play  sav- 
age,— the  complete  savage  in  low  life, — the  civilized  sav- 
age in  high.  The  complete  savage  is  found  in  the  dock- 
yard labourer,  who  makes  a  woman  bear  his  children  and 
then  kicks  her  to  death, — the  savage  in  high  life  is  the 
man  who  equally  kills  the  mother  of  his  children,  but  in 
another  way,  namely,  by  neglect  and  infidelity,  while  he 
treats  his  numerous  mistresses  just  as  the  Turk  treats 
the  creatures  of  his  harem — merely  as  so  many  pretty 
soft  animals,  requiring  to  be  fed  with  sweets  and  orna- 
mented with  jewels,  and  then  to  be  cast  aside  when  done 
with.  All  pure  savagery!  But  we  are  slowly  evolving 
from  it  into  something  better.  A  few  of  us  there  are, 
who  honour  womanhood, — a  few  of  us  believe  in  women 
as  guiding  stars  in  our  troubled  sky, — a  few  of  us  would 


The  Master-Christian.  127 

work  and  climb  to  greatness  for  love  of  the  one  woman 
we  adore, — would  conquer  all  obstacles, — ay,  would  die 
for  her  if  need  be,  or  what  is  far  more  difficult,  would 
live  for  her  the  life  of  a  hero  and  martyr!  Yes — such 
things  are  done, — and  men  can  be  found  who  will  do 
such  things — all  for  a  woman's  sake." 

There  was  a  wonderful  passion  in  his  voice, — a  deep 
thrill  of  earnestness  which  carried  conviction  with  sweet- 
ness. Cardinal  Bonpre  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  You  are  perhaps  one  of  those  men,  Mr.  Leigh  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  I  do  not  know, — I  may  be,"  responded  Leigh,  a  flush 
rising  to  his  cheeks ; — "  but, — so  far,  no  woman  has  ever 
truly  loved  me,  save  my  mother.  But  apart  from  all  per- 
sonalities, I  am  a  great  believer  in  women.  The  love 
of  a  good  woman  is  a  most  powerful  lever  to  raise  man 
to  greatness, — I  do  not  mean  by  '  good  '  the  goody-goody 
creature, — no,  for  that  is  a  sort  of  woman  who  does  more 
mischief  in  her  so-called  '  blameless  '  life  than  a  very 
Delilah.  I  mean  by  '  good  ',  a  strong,  pure,  great  soul  in 
woman, — sincere,  faithful,  patient,  full  of  courage  and 
calm, — and  with  this  I  maintain  she  must  prove  a  truly 
God-given  helpmate  to  man.  For  we  are  rough  creatures 
at  best, — irritable  creatures  too ! — you  see,"  and  here  a 
slight  smile  lighted  up  his  delicate  features,  "  we  really 
do  try  more  or  less  to  reach  heights  that  are  beyond  us — 
we  are  always  fighting  for  a  heaven  of  some  sort,  whether 
we  make  it  of  gold,  or  politics,  or  art ; — it  is  a  '  heaven  ' 
or  a  '  happiness  '  that  we  want ; — we  would  be  as  gods, — 
we  would  scale  Olympus, — and  sometimes  Olympus  re- 
fuses to  be  scaled  !  And  then  we  tumble  down,  very  cross, 
very  sore,  very  much  ruffled ; — and  it  is  only  a  woman  who 
can  comfort  us  then,  and  by  her  love  and  tenderness 
mend  our  broken  limbs  and  put  salve  on  our  wounded 
pride." 

"  Well,  then,  surely  the  Church  is  in  a  very  bad  way," 
said  Vergniaud  smiling,  "  Think  of  the  vow  of  perpetual 
celibacy !  " 

"  Celibacy  cannot  do  away  with  woman's  help  or  in- 
fluence," said  Leigh,  "  There  are  always  mothers  and  sis- 
ters, instead  of  sweethearts  and  wives.  I  am  in  favour 
of  celibacy  for  the  clergy.  I  think  a  minister  of  Christ 
should  be  free  to  work  for  and  serve  Christ  only." 


128  The  Master-Christian. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Leigh ;  "  said  the  Cardinal, 
"  There  is  more  than  enough  to  do  in  every  day  of  our 
lives  if  we  desire  to  truly  follow  His  commands.  But 
hi  this  present  time,  alas ! — religion  is  becoming  a  ques- 
tion of  form — not  of  heart." 

"  Dearest  uncle,  if  you  think  that,  you  will  not  judge 
me  too  severely  for  my  pictures,"  said  Angela  quickly, 
throwing  herself  on  her  knees  beside  him.  "  Do  you  not 
see?  It  is  just  because  the  ministers  of  Christ  are  so  lax 
that  I  have  taken  to  studying  them  in  my  way, — which  is, 
I  know,  not  your  way ; — still,  I  think  we  both  mean  one 
and  the  same  thing !  " 

"  You  are  a  woman,  Angela,"  said  the  Cardinal  gently, 
"  and  as  a  woman  you  must  be  careful  of  offences — 

"  Oh,  a  woman !  "  exclaimed  Angela,  her  beautiful  eyes 
flashing  with  mingled  tenderness  and  scorn,  and  her 
whole  face  lighting  up  with  animation,  "  Only  a  woman ! 
She  must  not  give  a  grand  lesson  to  the  world !  She 
must  not,  by  means  of  brush  or  pen,  point  out  to  a  cor- 
rupt generation  the  way  it  is  going!  Why?  Because 
God  has  created  her  to  be  the  helpmate  of  man !  Excel- 
lent reason !  Man  is  taking  a  direct  straight  road  to  de- 
struction, and  she  must  not  stop  him  by  so  much  as 
lifting  a  warning  finger !  Again,  why?  Only  because  she 
is  a  woman !  But  I — were  I  twenty  times  a  woman, 
twenty  times  weaker  than  I  am,  and  hampered  by  every 
sort  of  convention  and  usage, — I  would  express  my 
thoughts  somehow,  or  die  in  the  attempt !  " 

" Bravissima!"  exclaimed  Vergniaud,  "Well  said, 
chere  Sovrani ! — Well  said !  But  I  am  the  mocking  de- 
mon always,  as  you  know — and  I  should  almost  be  tempted 
to  say  that  you  will  die  in  the  attempt!  I  do  not  mean 
that  you  will  die  physically, — no,  you  will  probably  live 
to  a  good  old  age;  people  who  suffer  always  do! — but 
you  will  die  in  the  allegorical  sense.  You  will  grow  the 
stigmata  of  the  Saviour  in  your  hands  and  feet — you  will 
bear  terrible  marks  of  the  nails  hammered  into  your 
flesh  by  your  dearest  friends !  You  will  have  to  wear  a 
crown  of  thorns,  set  on  your  brows  no  doubt  by  those 
whom  you  most  love  .  .  .  and  the  vinegar  and  gall  will 
be  very  quickly  mixed  and  offered  to  you  by  the  whole 
world  of  criticism  without  a  moment's  hesitation !  And 
you  will  probably  have  to  endure  your  agony  alone, — 


The  Master-Christian.  129 

as  nearly  everyone  runs  away  from  a  declared  Truth,  or 
if  they  pause  at  all,  it  is  only  to  spit  upon  it  and  call  it  a 
Lie !  " 

"  Do  not  prophesy  so  cruel  a  fate  for  the  child !  "  said 
the  Cardinal  tenderly,  taking  Angela's  hand  and  drawing 
her  towards  him.  "  She  has  a  great  gift, — I  am  sure  she 
will  use  it  greatly.  And  true  greatness  is  always  ac- 
knowledged in  the  end." 

"  Yes,  when  the  author  or  the  artist  has  been  in  the 
grave  for  a  hundred  years  or  more ;  "  said  Verginaud  in- 
corrigibly. "  I  am  not  sure  that  it  would  not  be  better 
for  Donna  Sovrani's  happiness  to  marry  the  amiable 
Florian  Varillo  at  once  rather  than  paint  her  great  pic- 
ture !  Do  you  not  agree  with  me,  Mr.  Leigh  ?  " 

Leigh  was  turning  over  an  old  volume  of  prints  in  a 
desultory  and  abstracted  fashion,  but  on  being  addressed, 
looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  would  rather  not  presume  to  give  an  opinion,"  he 
said  somewhat  coldly,  "  It  is  only  on  the  rarest  occasions 
that  a  woman's  life  is  balanced  between  love  and  fame, 
— and  the  two  gifts  are  seldom  bestowed  together.  She 
generally  has  to  choose  between  them.  If  she  accepts 
love  she  is  often  compelled  to  forego  fame,  because  she 
merges  herself  too  closely  into  the  existence  of  another  to 
stand  by  her  own  individuality.  If  on  the  other  hand, 
she  chooses  fame,  men  are  generally  afraid  of  or  jealous 
of  her,  and  leave  her  to  herself.  Donna  Sovrani,  how- 
ever, is  a  fortunate  exception, — she  has  secured  both  fame 
— and  love." 

He  hesitated  a  moment  before  saying  the  last  words, 
and  his  brows  contracted  a  little.  But  Angela  did  not  see 
the  slight  cloud  of  vexation  that  darkened  his  eyes, — his 
words  pleased  her,  and  she  smiled. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Leigh  sees  how  it  is  with  me !  "  she  said, 
"  He  knows  what  good  cause  I  have  to  be  happy  and  to 
do  the  best  work  that  is  in  me !  It  is  all  to  make  Florian 
proud  of  me ! — and  he  is  proud — and  he  will  be  prouder ! 
You  must  just  see  this  one  more  sketch  taken  from  life, 
— it  is  the  head  of  one  of  our  most  noted  surgeons, — I 
call  it  for  the  present  '  A  Vivisectionist '." 

It  was  a  wonderful  study, — perhaps  the  strongest  of 
the  three  she  had  shown.  It  was  the  portrait  of  &  thin, 
fine,  intellectual  face,  which  in  its  every  line  suggested 


130  The  Master-Christian. 

an  intense,  and  almost  dreadful  curiosity.  The  brows 
were  high,  yet  narrow, — the  eyes  clear  and  cold,  and  piti- 
less in  their  straight  regard, — the  lips  thin  and  com- 
pressed,— the  nose  delicate,  with  thin  open  nostrils,  like 
those  of  a  trained  sleuth-hound  on  the  scent  of  blood.  It 
was  a  three-quarter-length  picture,  showing  the  hand  of 
the  man  slightly  raised,  and  holding  a  surgeon's  knife, — 
a  wonderful  hand,  rather  small,  with  fingers  that  are  gen- 
erally termed  "  artistic  " — and  a  firm  wrist,  which  An- 
gela had  worked  at  patiently,  carefully  delineating  the 
practised  muscles  employed  and  developed  in  the  vivi- 
sectionist's  ghastly  business. 

Aubrey  Leigh  stood  contemplating  it  intently. 

"  I  think  it  is  really  the  finest  of  all  the  types,"  he 
said  presently,  "  One  can  grasp  that  man's  character  so 
thoroughly !  There  is  no  pity  in  him, — no  sentiment — 
there  is  merely  an  insatiable  avidity  to  break  open  the 
great  treasure-house  of  Life  by  fair  means  or  foul !  It 
is  very  terrible — but  very  powerful." 

"  I  know  the  man,"  said  Abbe  Vergniaud,  "  Did  he  sit 
to  you  willingly  ?  " 

"  Very  willingly  indeed !  "  replied  Angela,  "  He  was 
quite  amused  when  I  told  him  frankly  that  I  wanted  him 
as  a  type  of  educated  and  refined  cruelty." 

"  Oh,  these  fellows  see  nothing  reprehensible  in  their 
work,"  said  Leigh,  "  And  such  things  go  on  among  them 
as  make  the  strongest  man  sick  to  think  of !  I  know  of 
two  cases  now  in  a  hospital ;  the  patients  are  incurable, 
but  the  surgeons  have  given  them  hope  of  recovery 
through  an  '  operation  '  which,  however,  in  their  cases, 
will  be  no  '  operation  '  at  all,  but  simply  vivisection.  The 
poor  creatures  have  to  die  anyhow,  it  is  true,  but  death 
might  come  to  them  less  terribly, — the  surgeons,  how- 
ever, will  '  operate ',  and  kill  them  a  little  more  quickly, 
in  order  to  grasp  certain  unknown  technicalities  of  their 
disease." 

Angela  looked  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes  of  pain  and 
amazement. 

"  Horrible !  "  she  murmured,  "  Absolutely  horrible ! 
Can  nothing  be  done  to  interfere  with,  or  to  stop  such 
cruelty  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  fear,"  said  Leigh,  "  I  have  been  abroad 
some  time,  studying  various  '  phases ',  of  its  so-called 


The  Master-Christian.  131 

intellectual  and  scientific  life,  and  have  found  many  of 
these  phases  nothing  but  an  output  of  masked  barbarity. 
The  savages  of  Thibet  are  more  pitiful  than  the  French 
or  Italian  vivisectionist, — and  the  horrors  that  go  on  in 
the  laboratories  would  not  be  believed  if  they  were  told. 
Would  not  be  believed !  They  would  be  flatly  denied, 
even  by  the  men  who  are  engaged  in  them !  And  were 
I  to  write  a  plain  statement  of  what  I  know  to  be  true, 
and  send  it  to  an  English  journal,  it  would  not  be  put 
in,  not  even  in  support  of  the  Anti-Vivisection  Society, 
lest  it  might  '  offend  '  the  foreign  schools  of  surgery,  and 
also  perhaps  lest  English  schools  might  prove  not  alto- 
gether free  from  similar  crimes.  If,  however,  by  chance, 
such  a  statement  were  published,  it  would  be  met  with 
an  indignant  chorus  of  denial  from  every  qnarter  of  ac- 
cusation !  How,  then,  can  justice  be  obtained  from  what 
I  call  the  New  Inquisition  ?  The  old-time  Inquisitors  tor- 
tured their  kind  for  Religion's  sake, — the  modern  ones 
do  it  in  the  name  of  Science, — but  the  inhumanity,  the 
callousness,  the  inborn  savage  love  of  cruelty — are  all  the 
same  in  both  instances." 

Cardinal  Bonpre  shuddered  as  he  heard. 

"  Lord  Christ,  where  art  thou !  "  he  thought,  "  Where 
is  Thy  spirit  of  unfailing  tenderness  and  care?  How  is 
Thy  command  of  '  love  one  another  '  obeyed !  "  Aloud  he 
said,  "  Surely  such  deeds,  even  in  the  cause  of  surgical 
science,  ought  not  to  be  permitted  in  a  Christian  city  ?  " 

"  Christian  city ! "  and  Vergniaud  laughed,  "  You 
would  not  apply  that  designation  to  Paris,  would  you? 
Paris  is  hopelessly,  riotously  pagan; — nay,  not  even 
pagan,  for  the  pagans  had  gods  and  Paris  has  none ! 
Neither  Jove — nor  Jupiter — nor  Jehovah  I  As  for  the 
Christ, — He  is  made  the  subject  of  many  a  public  cari- 
cature,— yes ! — you  may  see  them  in  the  side-streets  pasted 
upon  the  walls  and  hoardings ! — and  also  of  many  a  low 
lampoon ; — but  He  is  not  accepted  as  a  Teacher,  nor  even 
as  an  Example.  His  reign  is  over,  in  Paris  at  least !  " 

"  Stop !  "  said  the  Cardinal,  rising  suddenly,  "  I  for- 
bid you.  Yergniaud,  to  tell  me  these  things!  If  they  are 
true,  then  shame  upon  you  and  upon  all  the  clergy  of  this 
unhappy  city  to  stand  by  and  let  such  disgrace  to  your- 
selves, and  blasphemy  to  our  Master,  exist  without  pro- 
test!" 


132  The  Master-Christian. 

His  tall  spare  figure  assumed  a  commanding  grandeur 
and  authority, — his  pale  face  flushed  and  his  eyes  sparkled 
— he  looked  inspired — superb — a  very  apostle  burning 
with  righteous  indignation.  His  words  seemed  to  have 
the  effect  of  an  electric  shock  on  the  Abbe, — he  started 
as  though  stung  by  the  lash  of  a  whip,  and  drew  himself 
up  haughtily  .  .  .  then  meeting  the  Cardinal's  straight 
glance,  his  head  drooped,  and  he  stood  mute  and  rigid. 
Leigh,  though  conscious  of  embarrassment  as  the  witness 
of  a  strong  reproof  administered  by  one  dignitary  of  the 
Church  to  another,  yet  felt  deeply  interested  in  the  scene, 
— Angela  shrank  back  trembling, — and  for  a  few  mo-' 
ments  which,  though  so  brief,  seemed  painfully  long,  there 
was  a  dead  silence.  Then  Verginaud  spoke  in  low  stifled 
accents. 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,  Monseigneur !  It  is  shame 
to  me ! — and  to  the  priesthood  of  France !  I  am  no  worse 
than  the  rest  of  my  class, — but  I  am  certainly  no  better! 
Your  reproach  is  grand, — and  just !  I  accept  it,  and  ask 
your  pardon !  " 

He  bent  one  knee,  touched  the  Cardinal's  ring  with  his 
lips,  and  then  without  another  word  turned  and  left  the 
room.  The  Cardinal  gazed  after  his  retreating  figure  like 
a  man  in  a  dream,  then  he  said  gently, 

"  Angela,  go  after  him ! — Call  him  back  ! " 

But  it  was  too  late.  Vergniaud  had  left  the  house  be- 
fore Angela  could  overtake  him.  She  came  back  hur- 
riedly to  say  so,  with  a  pale  face  and  troubled  look.  Her 
uncle  patted  her  kindly  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Well,  well ! — It  will  not  hurt  him  to  have  seen  me 
angry,"  he  said  smiling,  "Anger  in  a  just  cause  is  per- 
mitted. I  seem  to  have  frightened  you,  Angela?  Of  a 
truth  I  have  rather  frightened  myself!  There,  we  will 
not  talk  any  more  of  the  evils  of  Paris.  Mr.  Leigh  per- 
haps thinks  me  an  intolerant  Christian  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary  I  think  you  are  one  of  the  few 
'  faithful '  that  I  have  ever  met,"  said  Leigh,  "  Of  course 
I  am  out  of  it  in  a  way,  because  I  do  not  belong  to  the 
Roman  Church.  I  am  supposed — I  say  '  supposed  '  ad- 
visedly— to  be  a  Church  of  England  man,  or  to  put  it  more 
comprehensively,  a  Protestant,  and  I  certainly  am  so  much 
of  the  latter  that  I  protest  against  all  our  systems  alto- 
gether ! " 


The  Master-Christian.  133 

"Is  that  quite  just?"  asked  Bonpre  gently. 

"  Perhaps  not ! — but  what  is  one  to  do  ?  I  am  not  alone 
in  my  ideas!  One  of  our  English  bishops  has  been  lat- 
terly deploring  the  fact  that  out  of  a  thousand  lads  in  a 
certain  parish  nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine  of  them 
never  go  to  church !  Well,  what  can  you  expect  ?  I  do 
not  blame  those  nine-hundred  and-ninety-nine  at  all.  I 
am  one  with  them.  /  never  go  to  church." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  I  never  find  any  touch  of  the  true 
Spirit  of  Christ  there — and  the  whole  tone  of  the  place 
makes  me  feel  distinctly  un-Christian.  The  nine-hundred- 
and-ninety-nine  youths  possibly  would  sympathise  with 
me.  A  church  is  a  building  more  or  less  beautiful  or 
ugly  as  the  case  may  be,  and  in  the  building  there  is  gen- 
erally a  man  who  reads  prayers  in  a  sing-song  tone  of 
voice,  and  perhaps  another  man  who  preaches  without  elo- 
quence on  some  text  which  he  utterly  fails  to  see  the 
true  symbolical  meaning  of.  There  are  no  Charles  Kings- 
leys  nowadays, — if  there  were,  I  should  call  myself  a 
'  Kingsleyite  '.  But  as  matters  stand  I  am  not  moved  by 
the  church  to  feel  religious.  I  would,  rather  sit  quietly  in 
the  fields  and  hear  the  gentle  leaves  whispering  their  joys 
and  thanksgivings  above  my  head,  than  listen  to  a  human 
creature  who  has  not  even  the  education  to  comprehend 
the  simplest  teachings  of  nature,  daring  to  assert  himself 
as  a  teacher  of  the  Divine.  My  own  chief  object  in  life 
has  been  and  still  is  to  speak  on  this  and  similar  sub- 
jects to  the  people  who  are  groping  after  lost  Christian- 
ity. They  need  helping,  and  I  want  to  try  in  my  way  to 
help  them." 

"  Groping  alter  lost  Christianity !  "  echoed  the  Car- 
dinal, "  Those  words  are  a  terrible  indictment,  Mr. 
Leigh!" 

"  Yet  in  your  own  soul  your  Eminence  admits  it  to  be 
true,"  returned  Leigh  quickly, — "  I  can  see  the  admission 
in  your  eyes, — in  the  very  expression  of  your  face !  You 
feel  in  yourself  that  the  true  spirit  of  Christ  is  lacking 
in  all  the  churches  of  the  present  day, — that  the  sheep 
are  straying  for  lack  of  the  shepherd,  and  that  the  wolf 
is  in  the  fold !  You  know  it, — you  feel  it, — you  see  it !  " 

Cardinal  Bonpre's  head  drooped. 

"  God  help  me  and  forgive  me,  I  am  afraid  I  do !  "  he 


134  The  Master-Christian. 

said  sorrowfully.  "  I  see  the  shadow  of  the  storm  before 
it  draws  nigh, — I  feel  the  terror  of  the  earthquake  before 
it  shakes  down  the  edifice!  No,  the  world  is  not  with 
Christ  to-day ! — and  unhappily  it  is  a  fact  that  Christ's 
ministers  in  recent  years  have  done  more  to  sever  Him 
from  Humanity  than  any  other  power  could  ever  have  suc- 
ceeded in  doing.  Not  by  action,  but  by  inertia! — dumb- 
ness— lack  of  protest, — lack  of  courage!  Only  a  few 
stray  souls  stand  out  firm  and  fair  in  the  chaos, — only 
a  few !  " 

'  I  know  thy  works,  that  thou  art  neither  cold  nor 
hot, — I  would  thou  wert  cold  or  hot!  So  because  thou 
art  lukewarm  and  neither  cold  nor  hot  I  will  spew  thee 
out  of  my  mouth ! '  "  quoted  Leigh,  his  eyes  flashing  and 
his  voice  trembling  with  repressed  earnestness,  "  That  is 
the  trouble  all  through!  Apathy, — dead,  unproductive 
apathy  and  laissez-faire! — Ah,  I  believe  there  are  some 
of  us  living  now  who  are  destined  to  see  strange  and  ter- 
rible things  in  this  new  century !  " 

"  For  myself,"  said  the  Cardinal  slowly,  "  I  think  there 
is  not  much  time  left  us !  I  feel  a  premonition  of  Divine 
wrath  threatening  the  world,  and  when  I  study  the  as- 
pect of  the  times  and  see  the  pride,  licentiousness,  and 
wealth-worship  of  men,  I  cannot  but  think  the  days  are 
drawing  near  when  our  Master  will  demand  of  us  account 
of  our  service.  It  is  just  the  same  as  in  the  case  of  the 
individual  wrong-doer,  when  it  seems  as  if  punishment 
were  again  and  again  retarded,  and  mercy  shown, — yet 
if  all  benefits,  blessings  and  warnings  are  unheeded, 
then  at  last  the  bolt  falls  suddenly  and  with  terrific 
effect.  So  with  nations — so  with  churches — so  with  the 
world!" 

His  voice  grew  feeble,  and  his  eyes  were  clouded  with 
pain. 

"  You  are  fatigued,"  said  Leigh  gently,  "  And  I  ought 
not  to  have  stayed  so  long.  I  will  bid  you  farewell  now. 
If  I  am  in  Rome  when  you  are  there,  I  trust  you  will  per- 
mit me  to  pay  my  respects  to  you  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  see  you,  my  son,"  answered 
the  Cardinal,  pressing  his  hand  and  courteously  prevent- 
ing him  from  making  the  formal  genuflection,  "  And  let 
me  add  that  it  will  help  me  very  much  to  hear  from  you 
what  progress  you  make  in  your  intention  of  working  for 


The  Master-Christian.  135 

Christ.    For, — when  you  speak  to  the  people  as  a  teacher, 
it  is  in  His  name,  is  it  not?  " 

"  In  His  name,  and  I  pray  in  His  spirit,"  said  Leigh, 
"  But  not  through  any  church." 

The  Cardinal  sighed,  but  said  no  more,  and  Leigh 
turned  to  Angela. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said,  "  I  may  come  and  see  the  picture 
in  Rome?  " 

''  You  may  indeed,"  and  Angela  gave  him  her  hand  in 
frank  friendliness,  "  I  shall  feel  the  necessity  of  your 
criticism  and  the  value  of  your  opinion." 

He  looked  at  her  intently  for  a  moment. 

"  Be  of  good  courage,"  he  then  said  in  a  low  tone, 

'  Work  out  your  own  salvation ',  it  is  the  only  way ! 
Fulfil  the  expression  of  your  whole  heart  and  soul  and 
mind,  and  never  heed  what  opposing  forces  may  do  to 
hinder  you.  You  are  so  clear-brained,  so  spiritually  or- 
ganised, that  I  cannot  imagine  your  doing  anything  that 
shall  not  create  a  power  for  good.  You  are  sometimes 
inclined  to  be  afraid  of  the  largeness  of  your  own  con- 
ceptions in  the  picture  you  are  dreaming  of, — I  can  see 
that, — but  do  not  fear!  The  higher  influences  are  with 
you  and  in  you ; — give  yourself  up  to  them  with  abso- 
lute confidence !  Good-bye. — God  bless  you !  "  He 
stooped  and  kissed  her  hand, — then  left  the  room. 

Angela  looked  after  him,  and  a  half  sigh  escaped  her 
lips  unconsciously.  The  Cardinal  watched  her  with  rather 
a  troubled  look.  After  a  little  silence  he  said, 

"  You  must  pardon  me,  my  child,  if  I  seemed  over  • 
hasty  in  my  judgment  of  your  work  .  .  .  " 

"  Dearest  uncle,  do  not  speak  of  it !  "  exclaimed  Angela, 
"  You  were  pained  and  sorry  to  see  such  a  '  servant  of 
Christ '  as  the  type  I  chose, — you  could  not  help  express- 
ing your  feeling it  was  natural  .  .  .  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  vexed, — I  own  it ! — "  went  on  Bonpre, 
"  For  I  know  many  priests,  poor,  patient,  simple  men,  who 
do  their  best  for  our  Lord  according  to  their  measure  and 
capability, — men  who  deserve  all  honour,  all  love,  all  re- 
spect, for  the  integrity  of  their  lives, — still — I  am  aware 
that  these  are  in  the  minority,  and  that  men  of  the  kind 
your  sketch  depicts,  compose  alas ! — the  majority.  There 
is  a  frightful  preponderance  of  evil  influences  in  the 
world !  Industry,  and  commerce,  and  science  have  ad- 


136 


The  Master-Christian. 


vanced,  and  yet  a  noble  and  upright  standard  of  conduct 
among  men  is  sadly  lacking.  Men  are  seeking  for  hap- 
piness in  Materialism,  and  find  nothing  but  satiety  and 
misery, — satiety  and  misery  which  become  so  insupport- 
able that  very  often  suicide  presents  itself  as  the  only  way 
out  of  such  a  tangle  of  wretchedness !  Yes,  child ! — all 
this  is  true — and  if  you  think  you  have  a  lesson  to  give 
which  will  be  useful  in  these  dark  days,  no  one, — I  least 
of  all — should  presume  to  hinder  you  from  giving  it. 
Still,  remember  that  the  results  of  work  are  not  with  the 
worker  to  determine — they  rest  with  God." 

"  Truly  I  hope  they  do,"  said  Angela  fervently,  "  For 
then  all  bad  work  will  pass  away  and  only  the  good  and 
necessary  remain." 

"  That  always  is  the  rule,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  No 
criticism  can  kill  good  work  or  vivify  bad.  So  be  happy, 
Angela  mia!  Paint  your  great  picture  with  courage  and 
hope — I  will  neither  judge  nor  condemn,  and  if  the 
world's  verdict  should  be  cruel,  mine  shall  be  kind  !  " 

He  smiled  and  stroked  her  soft  hair,  then  taking  her 
arm  he  leaned  upon  it  affectionately  as  they  left  the  stu- 
dio together. 


X. 

THE  next  day,  and  the  next  after  that,  were  passed  by 
the  Cardinal  in  gratifying  a  certain  eagerness  shown  by 
his  young  foundling,  Manuel,  to  see  the  churches  and 
great  public  buildings  of  Paris.  The  boy  had  a  quiet, 
straightforward  way  of  expressing  his  wishes  and  opin- 
ions, and  a  certain  marked  individuality  in  his  manner — 
in  fatt,  so  simple  and  straight  were  his  words,  and  so 
much  to  the  point,  that  they  sometimes  caused  confusion 
to  his  hearers.  Once  or  twice  he  gave  offence,  as  for 
example,  on  visiting  a  great  church  where  there  were 
numerous  jewelled  relics  and  priceless  treasures  of  old 
lace  and  embroidery,  when  he  said  suddenly: 

"  There  is  a  woman  just  outside  the  door,  very  ill  and 
poor,  with  two  little  starving  children ; — would  it  not  be 
well  to  sell  some  of  the  jewels  here  and  give  her  the 
money?  " 

The  custodian  looked  amazed,  and  the  attendant  priest 
who  was  escorting  Cardinal  Bonpre  through  the  building, 
frowned. 

"  The  treasures  of  the  Church  are  not  to  be  sold,"  he 
said  curtly.  "  The  beggar  outside  is  no  doubt  a  trained 
hypocrite." 

"  Christ  would  not  say  so,"  answered  Manuel  softly, — 
"  He  would  not,  even  if  He  knew  her  to  be  a  hypocrite,  re- 
tain anything  of  value  for  Himself,  if  by  giving  it  to  her, 
He  could  ease  her  pain  and  poverty.  I  cannot  under- 
stand why  the  Church  should  keep  jewels." 

'  That  is  because  you  are  ignorant,"  said  the  priest 
roughly. 

Manuel  raised  his  grave  blue  eyes  and  fixed  them  stead- 
ily upon  him. 

'  That  may  be,"  he  said,  "  Yet  I  think  it  is  nowhere 
written  in  the  Gospel  that  Christ  cared  for  the  world's 
wealth  or  the  world's  possessions.  When  they  are  of- 
fered to  Him  did  he  not  say,  '  Get  thee  behind  me,  Sa- 
tan ' !  The  only  gem  he  prized  was  the  '  pearl  of  great 
price/ — the  pure  and  perfect  human  soul." 


138  The  Master-Christian. 

"  The  thurch  is  the  manufactory  of  those  pearls,"  said 
the  priest,  with  something  between  a  grin  and  a  sneer. 

"  Then  the  Church  needs  no  other  jewels  "  returned 
Manuel  quietly,  with  a  little  gesture  of  his  hand,  "  These 
glittering  baubles  you  shqw,  are  out  of  place." 

The  priest  glanced  him  over  with  angry  contempt. 
Then  he  said  to  the  Cardinal, 

"  Your  Eminence  will  have  trouble  with  that  boy,"  he 
said.  "  His  opinions  are  heretic." 

The  Cardinal  smiled  a  little. 

"  You  think  so  ?  Nay,  there  is  something  of  truth  in 
what  he  says,  notwithstanding  his  simplicity  of  utterance, 
which  is  not  perhaps  in  accordance  with  convention.  I 
confess  that  I  share  his  opinions  somewhat.  Certainly  I 
esteem  myself  happy  that  in  my  far-off  diocese  there  are 
none  of  the  world's  precious  things,  but  only  the  un- 
prized prayers  of  the  faithful." 

The  priest  said  nothing  in  reply, — but  he  was  conscious 
of  discomfort  and  uneasiness,  and  hurried  through  the 
rest  of  his  duties  with  an  ill-grace,  annoyed,  though  he 
knew  not  why,  by  the  very  presence  of  Manuel.  The  boy, 
however,  paid  no  heed  to  his  angry  glances,  and  noted 
everything  in  his  own  quiet  meditative  way, — a  way 
•Which  was  a  singularly  winning  one,  graced  as  it  was  by 
an  almost  scholarly  thoughtfulness  united  to  the  charm  of 
youth.  Once,  before  a  magnificent  priest's  garment  of 
lace,  he  paused,  and  touched  the  substance  lightly. 

"  See,"  he  said  softly,  looking  wistfully  up  in  the  Car- 
dinal's face,  "  See  all  the  leaves  and  rosebuds  worked  in 
this  by  the  needle, — and  think  how  many  human  eyes 
have  strained  at  it,  and  grown  dull  and  blind  over  it !  If 
one  could  only  believe  that  the  poor  eyes  were  comforted 
at  all  in  the  following  of  the  difficult  thread ! — but  no, — 
the  sunshine  must  have  lessened  and  the  days  grown 
darker  and  darker,  till  death  came  and  gently  shut  up  the 
lids  of  the  tired  orbs  of  earthy  vision,  and  opened  those 
of  the  soul  to  Light  indeed !  This  work  speaks  with  a 
thousand  tongues !  I  can  hear  them !  Torture, — poverty, 
— pain, — pitilessness, — long  hours, — scant  reward, — tired 
fingers, — weary  hearts ! — and  a  priest  of  Christ  wears 
this  to  perform  Christ's  service !  Clad  in  a  garment  of 
human  suffering,  to  preach  mercy !  Is  it  not  strange  ?  " 

"  You  think  too  deeply,  my  child,"  said  the  Cardinal, 


The  Master-Christian.  139 

moved  by  the  tender  pity  in  Manuel's  voice,  "  Nothing  is 
accomplished  without  pain  in  this  world, — our  dear  Lord 
Himself  suffered  pain." 

"  True,"  said  Manuel,  "  But  His  pain  was  endured  that 
there  might  be  less  of  it  for  others !  He  asked  His  chil- 
dren in  this  world  to  love  one  another  for  His  sake — not 
to  grind  each  other  down' !  Not  to  make  unnecessary 
hardships  for  each  other!  But  it  seems  as  if  He  had 
asked  in  vain !  " 

He  was  silent  after  this,  and  refrained  from  remark 
even  when,  during  their  visit  to  Notre  Dame,  the  treas- 
ury was  unlocked  for  the  Cardinal's  inspection,  and  the 
relics  formerly  contained  in  the  now  disused  "  Sainte 
Chapelle,"  were  shown, — including  the  fragments  of  the 
"  crown  of  thorns,"  and  a  nail  from  the  "  true  cross." 
The  Cardinal  was  silent  too.  He  had  no  remark  to  offer 
on  these  obvious  "  imaginations "  of  the  priesthood. 
Then  they  went  up  together  to  the  platform  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Cathedral,  and  looked  at  the  great  bell  known 
as  the  "  Bourdon  de  Notre  Dame  " ; — and  here  they  found 
a  little  wizened  old  man  sitting  carelessly  on  the  edge  of  a 
balustrade,  in  a  seemingly  very  dangerous  position,  who 
nodded  and  smiled  familiarly  as  they  appeared.  He 
acted  as  cicerone  of  the  summit  of  the  North  'HJlver,  and 
was  soon  at  their  side  explaining  volubly  all  that  was  of 
interest. 

"  Tired, — oh  yes,  one  gets  tired !  "  he  admitted,  in  re- 
sponse to  a  query  from  the  Cardinal  as  to  whether  he  did 
not  find  his  duties  fatiguing  at  his  age,  "  But  after  all,  I 
like  the  griffins  and  dragons  and  devils'  faces  up  here, 
better  than  the  griffins  and  dragons  and  devils  down  there, 
— below  on  the  Boulevards !  I  call  this  Heaven,  and 
down  there  in  the  streets,  Hell.  Yes,  truly !  It  is  whole- 
some up  here, — the  sky  seems  very  near,  and  the  sculp- 
tured beasts  do  no  harm.  But  down  in  the  streets  one 
feels  and  smells  the  dirt  and  danger  directly.  I  sit  here 
all  by  myself  for  hours  thinking,  when  no  one  comes  to 
visit  the  tower, — for  sometimes  a  whole  day  passes  and 
no  one  wishes  to  ascend.  And  there  is  a  moral  in  that, 
Monseigneur,  if  one  has  eyes  to  see  it; — days  pass,  years, 
in  the  world, — and  no  one  wishes  to  ascend ! — to  Heaven, 
I  mean ! — to  go  down  to  Hell  is  delightful,  and  everyone 
is  readv  for  it!  It  is  at  night  that  the  platform  here  is 


140  The  Master-Christian. 

most  beautiful, — oh  yes,  at  night  it  is  very  fine,  Mon- 
seigneur ! — but  it  is  only  madmen  and  dreamers  who  call 
me  up  in  the  night  hours,  yet  when  they  do  I  never  refuse 
to  go  with  them,  for  look  you,  I  am  a  light  sleeper  and 
have  no  wife  to  bid  me  keep  my  bed.  Yes, — if  the  au- 
thorities knew  that  I  took  anybody  up  to  the  tower  at 
night  they  would  probably  dismiss  me,"  and  he  chuckled 
like  an  old  schoolboy  with  a  sense  of  his  own  innate  mis- 
chief and  disobedience,  "  But  you  see  they  do  not  know ! 
And  I  learn  a  great  deal  from  the  strange  persons  who 
come  at  night, — much  more  than  from  the  strange  per- 
sons who  come  by  day.  Now,  the  last  so  strange  per- 
son that  came  here  by  night — you  would  not  perhaps  be- 
lieve it,  Monseigneur,  but  it  was  a  priest !  Yes,"  and  the 
old  fellow  laughed,  "  a  priest  who  had  suddenly  found 
out  that  the  Church  was  not  following  its  Master !  Yes, 
yes!  .  .  .  just  fancy  killing  himself  for  that!  " 

"  Killing  himself !  "  cried  the  Cardinal,  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  You  would  like  to  hear  the  story  ? — ah,  take  care,  tnon 
angel"  he  cried,  as  he  perceived  Manuel  standing  lightly 
near  the  brink  of  the  platform,  and  stretching  out  his 
arms  towards  the  city,  "  Thou  art  not  a  bird  to  fly  from 
that  edge  in  the  air !  What  dost  thou  see  ?  " 

"  Paris !  "  replied  the  boy  in  strangely  sorrowful  ac- 
cents, turning  his  young,  wistful  face  towards  the  Car- 
dinal, his  hair  blown  back  in  the  light  wind,  "  All  Paris !  " 

"  Ah ! — 'tis  a  fine  sight,  all  Paris !  "  said  the  old  guide 
— "  one  of  the  finest  in  the  world,  to  judge  by  the  outside 
of  it.  But  the  inside  is  a  very  different  matter;  and  if 
Paris  is  not  a  doomed  city,  then  there  is  no  God,  and  I 
know  nothing  of  the  Bible.  It  has  got  all  the  old  sins 
in  a  new  shape,  and  revels  in  them.  And  of  the  story  of 
the  priest,  if  you  would  hear  it ; — ah  ! — that  is  well !  "  he 
said,  as  Manuel  left  the  giddy  verge  of  the  platform  where 
he  had  been  standing,  and  drew  near.  "  It  is  safer  to  be 
away  from  that  edge,  my  child !  And  for  the  poor  priest, 
it  happened  in  this  way, — it  was  a  fair  night,  and  the 
moon  was  high — I  was  dozing  off  in  a  chair  in  my  room 
below,  when  the  bell  rang  quickly,  yet  softly.  I  got  up 
wth  pleasure,  for  I  said  to  myself,  '  here  is  an  artist  or  a 
poet, — one  of  those  persons  who  are  unlike  anyone  else  ' 
— just  as  I  am  myself  unlike  anyone  else — '  and  so  we  two 


The  Master-Christian.  141 

shall  have  a  pleasant  evening.'  But  when  I  opened  the 
door  there  was  no  one  but  a  priest,  and  poor-looking  even 
at  that ;  and  he  was  young  and  pale,  and  very  uneasy  in 
his  manner,  and  he  said  to  me,  'Jean  Lapui ' — (that  is 
my  name) — '  let  me  pass  up  to  the  platform.'  '  Will- 
ingly,' said  I,  '  if  I  may  go  with  you.'  '  Nay,  I  would 
rather  be  alone,'  he  answered.  '  That  may  not  be,'  I  told 
him,  '  I  am  as  pleased  to  see  the  moonbeams  shining  on 
the  beasts  and  devils  as  any  man, — and  I  shall  do  you  no 
harm  by  my  company.'  Well,  he  agreed  to  have  me 
then,  and  up  we  went  the  three  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
steps, — (it  is  a  long  way,  Monseigneur; — )and  he 
mounted  quickly,  I  slowly, — but  always  keeping  my  eye 
upon  him.  At  last  we  reached  this  platform,  and  the 
moonlight  was  beautiful,  and  clear  as  day.  Then  my 
little  priest  sat  down  and  began  to  laugh.  '  Ha,  my 
Lapui ! '  he  said,  '  Is  it  not  droll  that  this  should  be  all  a 
lie !  All  this  fine  building,  and  all  the  other  fine  build- 
ings of  the  kind  in  Paris !  Strange,  my  Lapui,  is  it  not, 
that  this  Cathedral  should  be  raised  to  the  worship  of  a 
God  whom  no  one  obeys,  or  even  thinks  of  obeying !  All 
show,  my  good  Lapui !  All  to  feed  priests  like  me,  and 
keep  them  going — but  God  has  nothing  to  do  with  it — 
nothing  at  all,  I  swear  to  you ! ' — '  You  may  be  right,  mon 
reverend,'  I  said,  (for  I  saw  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be 
argued  with) — "  Yet  truly  the  Cathedral  has  not  always 
been  a  place  of  holiness.  In  seventeen  ninety-three  there 
was  not  much  of  our  Lord  or  the  blessed  Saints  in  it.' 
'  No,  you  are  right,  Lapui ! '  he  cried,  '  Down  came  the 
statue  of  the  Virgin,  and  up  went  the  statue  of  Liberty ! 
There  was  the  crimson  flare  of  the  Torch  of  Truth ! — and 
the  effigies  of  the  ape  Voltaire  and  the  sensualist  Rous- 
seau, took  the  places  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul !  Ha ! — 
And  they  worshipped  the  goddess  of  Reason — Reason, 
impersonated  by  Maillard  the  ballet-dancer !  True  to  the 
life,  my  Lapui ! — that  kind  of  worship  has  lasted  in 
Paris  until  now  ! — it  goes  on  still — Reason, — man's  idea 
of  Reason, — impersonated  by  a  ballet  dancer !  Yes, — the 
shops  are  full  of  that  goddess  and  her  portraits,  Jean 
Lapui !  And  the  jewellers  can  hardly  turn  out  sufficient 
baubles  to  adorn  her  shrine ! '  He  laughed  again,  and  I 
took  hold  of  him  by  the  arm.  '  See  here,  petit  per-e,'  I 
said,  '  I  fancy  all  is  not  well  with  you.'  '  You  are  right,' 


142  The  Master-Christian. 

he  answered,  '  all  is  very  ill ! '  '  Then  will  you  not  go 
home  and  to  bed  ?  '  I  asked  him.  '  Presently — pres- 
ently ; '  he  said,  '  if  I  may  tell  you  something  first !  '  '  Do 
so  by  all  means,  reverend  pere,'  said  I,  and  I  sat  down 
near  him.  '  It  is  just  this,  Lapui,'  and  he  drew  out  a  cru- 
cifix from  his  breast  and  looked  at  it  very  earnestly, '  I  am 
a  priest,  as  you  see ;  and  this  symbol  represents  my  faith. 
My  mother  told  me  that  to  be  a  priest  and  to  serve  God 
was  the  highest  happiness  that  could  befall  a  man.  I  be- 
lieved it, — and  when  I  look  at  the  stars  up  there  crowd- 
ing around  us  in  such  vast  circles, — when  I  look  at  all 
this  moonlight  and  the  majesty  of  creation  around  me,  I 
believe  it  still !  Up  here,  it  seems  there  may  be  a  God ; 
down  there,'  and  he  pointed  towards  the  streets,  '  I  know 
there  is  a  devil !  But  I  have  discovered  that  it  is  no  use 
telling  the  people  about  God,  because  they  do  not  be- 
lieve in  Him.  They  think  I  am  telling  them  a  lie  be- 
cause it  is  my  metier  to  tell  lies.  And  also  because  they 
think  I  have  neither  the  sense  nor  the  ability  to  do  any- 
thing else.  They  know  they  are  telling  lies  themselves 
all  day  and  every  day.  Some  of  them  pretend  to  believe, 
because  they  think  it  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side  even  by 
feigning, — and  they  are  the  worst  hypocrites.  It  drives 
me  mad,  Lapui,  to  perform  Mass  for  liars !  If  it  were 
only  unbelievers !  but  liars ! — liars !  Liars  who  lie  on 
their  death-beds,  telling  me  with  mock  sighs  of  penitence 
that  they  believe  in  God  when  they  do  not !  I  had  a 
dream  last  night — you  shall  tell  me  if  I  was  mistaken  in 
it, — it  was  a  dream  of  this  very  tower  of  Notre  Dame.  I 
was  up  here  as  I  am  now — and  the  moonlight  was  around 
me  as  it  is  now — and  I  thought  that  just  behind  the  wing 
of  that  third  angel's  head  carved  yonder — do  you  see  ?  ' 
and  he  got  up  and  made  me  get  up  too,  and  turned  me 
round  with  his  hand  on  my  shoulder — '  a  white  dove  had 
made  its  resting-place.  Is  there  a  white  dove  there, 
Lapui?  If  there  is  I  shall  be  a  happy  man  and  all  my 
griefs  will  be  at  an  end !  Will  you  go  and  look — and  tell 
me  if  there  is  a  white  dove  nestling  there?  Then  I  will 
say  good-night  to  you  and  go  home.'  God  forgive  me ! — 
I  thought  to  humor  him  in  his  fancy,  and  so  I  left  him  to 
walk  those  five  steps — only  five  at  the  utmost — and  see 
if  perhaps  among  the  many  doves  that  fly  about  the 
towers,  it  might  not  be  that  a  white  one,  as  he  said,  should 


The  Master-Christian.  143 

have  chosen  to  settle  in  the  place  he  pointed  out  to  me, 
'  for,'  thought  I,  '  he  will  be  quiet  then  and  satisfied/' 

And  like  a  blind  fool  I  went and  when  I  came  back 

the  platform  was  empty! Ah,  Monseigneur ! — he  had 

said  good-night  indeed,  and  gone  home !  " 

"  You  mean  that  he  flung  himself  from  this  parapet ?  " 
said  Bonpre,  in  a  low,  horrified  tone. 

"  That  was  the  way  of  it,  Monseigneur,"  said  Lapui 
commiseratingly, — "  His  body  was  found  next  day 
crushed  to  bits  on  the  pavement  below ;  but  somehow  no 
one  troubled  much  about  it,  or  thought  he  had  thrown 
himself  from  the  tower  of  Notre  Dame.  It  was  skid 
that  he  had  been  murdered  and  thrown  out  of  a  window, 
but  nobody  knew  how  or  when.  Of  course  I  could  have 
spoken,  but  then  I  should  have  got  into  trouble.  And  I 
avoid  trouble  whenever  I  can.  A  very  strange  thing  it 
is  that  no  one  has  ever  been  suspected  of  leaping  from 
Notre  Dame  into  the  next  world  since  Victor  Hugo's 
great  story  was  written.  '  It  is  against  the  rules/  say  the 
authorities,  '  to  mount  the  towers  at  night.'  True,  but 
rules  are  not  always  kept.  Victor  Hugo's  '  Quasimodo,' 
who  never  lived,  is  the  only  person  the  wiseacres  associ- 
ate with  such  a  deed.  And  I, — I  could  tell  many  a 
strange  story ;  only  it  is  better  to  be  silent !  Life  is  hard 
living, — and  when  a  priest  of  the  Church  feels  there  is 
no  God  in  this  world,  why  what  is  there  left  for  him  ex- 
cept to  try  and  find  out  if  there  is  in  the  next  ?  " 

"  Suicide  is  not  the  way  to  find  Heaven,"  said  the  Car- 
dinal gravely. 

"  Maybe  not, — maybe  not,"  and  the  old  custodian 
turned  to  lead  the  way  down  the  steps  of  the  tower,  "  But 
when  the  brain  is  gone  all  through  grief  at  losing  God,  it 
may  chance  that  God  sees  the  conditions  of  things,  and 
has  mercy.  Events  happen  in  this  world  of  such  a  kind 
as  to  make  anyone  who  is  not  a  saint,  doubt  the  sense  as 
well  as  the  goodness  of  the  Creator, — of  course  that  is  a 
wicked  thing  to  say,  for  we  make  our  own  evils,  no 
doubt " 

"  That  is  very  certain,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  The  un- 
happy man  you  have  told  me  of  should  have  trusted  God 
to  the  end,  whether  those  whom  he  preached  to,  believed 
his  message  or  not.  Their  conduct  was  not  his  business, 
— his  task  was  to  declare,  and  not  to  judge." 


144  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Now  that  is  very  well  put !  "  and  the  old  man  paused 
on  the  stairway  and  looked  round  approvingly.  "  Of 
course  that  is  said  as  only  a  wise  man  could  say  it,  for 
after  all,  Christ  Himself  did  not  judge  any  one  in  any 
case.  He  came  to  save  us  all,  not  to  punish  us." 

"  Then  why  does  not  everyone  remember  that,  and  try 
to  save  one  another  rather  than  to  condemn  ?  "  asked 
Manuel  suddenly. 

They  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  tower  stairway, 
and  old  Jean  Lapui,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the 
daylight  with  one  wrinkled  hand,  looked  at  the  boy  with 
a  smile  of  compassionate  interest. 

"  Why  does  not  everyone  remember  ?  Why  does  not 
everyone  do  as  He  did  ?  Ah,  that  is  a  question !  You 
are  young,  and  you  will  find  out  many  answers  to  it  be- 
fore you  are  much  older.  One  fact  is  sure, — that  if 
everybody  did  remember  Him  and  lived  exactly  as  He 
wished,  we  should  have  a  new  Heaven  and  a  new  Earth ; 
and  I  will  tell  you  something  else,"  and  the  old  fellow 
looked  sly  and  mischievous,  "  No  offence  meant — no  of- 
fence ! — but  there  would  be  no  churches  and  no  priests !  • 
Believe  me,  I  speak  the  truth !  But  this  would  be  a  great 
happiness ;  and  is  not  to  be  our  portion  yet !  Good-day, 
Monseigneur! — A  thousand  pardons  for  my  wicked 
speech  !  Good-day !  " 

"  Good-day !  "  responded  the  Cardinal  gently,  "  Be  care- 
ful of  your  night  visitors,  my  friend !  Do  not  for  the  fu- 
ture leave  them  alone  to  plunge  into  the  Infinite  without 
a  warning !  " 

The  old  man  smiled  deprecatingly. 

"  Truly,  Monseigneur,  I  am  generally  careful.  I  do 
not  know  when  I  have  spoken  so  freely  to  anyone  as  I 
have  to  you ;  for  I  am.  generally  in  a  bad  humour  with  all 
Church  dignitaries, — and  of  course  I  know  you  for  a  Car- 
dinal by  your  dress,  while  you  might  truly  be  a  saint 
from  your  manner; — so  I  should  have  held  my  tongue 
about  the  flight  into  the  air  of  the  little  priest.  But  you 
will  say  nothing,  for  you  are  discreet;  and  even  if  yon 
did,  and  I  were  asked  about  it,  I  should  know  nothing. 
Oh,  yes,  I  can  tell  lies  as  fast  as  anybody  else ! — Yes, 
truly !  I  do  not  suppose  anyone,  not  even  an  Archbishop 
himself,  could  surpass  me  in  lying !  " 

"  And  are  you  not  ashamed  to  lie  ?  "  asked  Bonpre,  with 


The  Master-Christian.  145 

an  intense  vibration  of  pain  in  his  voice  as  he  put  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  no,  Monseigneur !  "  replied  Lapui 
cheerfully,  "  For  is  not  the  whole  world  kept  going  by 
lies  ?  Dear  me,  if  we  all  told  the  truth  there  would  be  an 
end  of  everything !  I  am  a  philosopher  in  my  way,  Mon- 
seigneur,— and  I  assure  you  that  a  real  serious  truth  told 
in  Paris  without  any  gloss  upon  it,  would  be  like  an 
earthquake  in  the  city, — great  houses  would  come  down 
and  numbers  of  people  would  be  killed  by  it !  Good-day, 
Monseigneur ! — Good-day." 

And  still  smiling  and  chuckling,  the  custodian  of  the 
North  tower  retired  into  his  den  there  to  await  fresh 
visitors.  The  Cardinal  walked  slowly  to  the  corner  of 
the  street  where  his  carriage  awaited  him, — his  head  bent 
and  his  eyes  downcast ;  Manuel  stepped  lightly  along  be- 
side him,  glancing  at  his  pale  face  from  time  to  time  with 
a  grave  and  tender  compassion.  When  they  were  seated 
in  the  vehicle  and  driving  homewards  the  boy  spoke 
gently — 

"  You  grieve  too  much  for  others,  dear  friend !  You 
are  now  distressed  because  you  have  heard  the  story  of 
one  unhappy  man  who  sought  to  find  God  by  self-de- 
struction ;  and  you  are  pained  also  lest  another  man  should 
lose  God  altogether  by  the  deliberate  telling  of  lies.  All 
such  mistakes  and  follies  of  the  world  weigh  heavily  on 
your  heart,  but  they  should  not  do  so, — for  did  not  Christ 
suffer  all  this  for  you  when  He  was  crucified  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  sighed  deeply. 

"  Yes,  my  child ;  but  He  told  us  plainly  why  He  suf- 
fered. It  was  that  we  might  learn  to  follow  Him,  and 
that  there  should  be  less  suffering  for  the  future.  And 
surely  we  have  not  obeyed  Him,  or  there  could  not  be  so 
much  pain  and  difficulty  in  the  world  as  there  is  now." 

"  If  He  come  again,  you  think  He  would  be  grieved  and 
disappointed  in  His  followers  ?  "  queried  Manuel  softly. 

"If  He  came  again,  I  fear  He  would  not  find  much  of 
His  teaching  in  any  of  the  creeds  founded  on  His  name ! 
If  He  came  again,  then  indeed  might  the  churches  trem- 
ble, totter  and  fall !  " 

"If  He  came  again,"  pursued  Manuel,  still  in  the  same 
soft,  even  voice,  "  how  do  you  think  He  would  come?  " 

"  '  Watch  ye  therefore  for  ye  know  not  when  He  com- 


146  The  Master- Christian. 

eth,'  "  murmured  the  Cardinal, — "  Aly  dear  child,  I  think 
if  He  came  again  it  would  be  perhaps  in  the  disguise  of 
one  who  is  poor  and  friendless  '  despised  and  rejected  of 
men/  as  when  He  first  glorified  the  earth  by  His  presence ; 
and  I  fear  that  in  such  plight  He  would  find  Himself,  as 
before,  unwelcome." 

Manuel  made  no  reply  just  then,  as  they  had  arrived  at 
home.  The  servant  who  admitted  them  told  them  that 
Donna  Sovrani  had  a  visitor  in  her  studio, — so  that  the 
Cardinal  and  his  young  attendant  went  straight  to  their 
own  apartments. 

"  Read  to  me,  Manuel,"  then  said  Bonpre,  seating  him- 
self near  the  window,  and  looking  out  dreamily  on  the 
rich  foliage  of  the  woods  and  grassy  slopes  that  stretched 
before  him,  "  Find  something  in  the  Gospels  that  will  fit 
what  we  have  seen  to-day.  I  am  tired  of  all  these  tem- 
ples and  churches! — these  gorgeous  tombs  and  reli- 
quaries ;  they  represent  penances  and  thank-offerings  no 
doubt,  but  to  me  they  seem  useless.  A  church  should  not 
be  a  shrine  for  worldly  stuff,  unless  indeed  such  things  are 
used  again  for  the  relief  of  poverty  and  suffering;  but 
they  are  not  used;  they  are  simply  kept  under  lock  and 
key  and  allowed  to  accumulate, — while  human  creatures 
dwelling  perhaps  quite  close  to  these  shrines,  are  allowed 
to  die  of  starvation.  Did  you  think  this  when  you  spoke 
to  the  priest  who  was  offended  with  you  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  thought  it,"  replied  Manuel  gently,  "  But  then 
he  said  I  was  a  heretic.  When  one  loves  God  better  than 
the  Church  is  one  called  a  heretic  ?  " 

Cardinal  Bonpre  looked  earnestly  at  the  boy's  inspired 
face, — the  face  of  a  dreaming  angel  in  its  deep  earnest- 
ness. 

"  If  so,  then  I  am  heretic,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  I  love 
the  Creator  as  made  manifest  to  me  in  His  works, — I  love 
Him  in  every  flower  which  I  am  privileged  to  look  upon, 
— I  find  Him  in  every  art  and  science, — I  worship  Him 
in  a  temple  not  made  with  hands, — His  own  majestic  Uni- 
verse !  Above  all  churches, — above  all  formulated  creeds 
and  systems  I  love  Him !  And  as  declared  in  the  divine 
humanity  of  Christ  I  believe  in,  and  adore  Him !  If  this 
makes  me  unworthy  to  be  His  priest  and  servant  then  I 
confess  my  unworthiness  !  " 

He  had  spoken  these  words  more  to  himself  than  Man- 


The  Master-Christian.  147 

uel,  and  in  his  fervour  had  closed  his  eyes  and  clasped  his 
bands, — and  he  almost  fancied  that  a  soft  touch,  light  as 
a  falling  rose-leaf,  had  for  a  second  rested  on  his  brow. 
He  looked  up  quickly,  wondering  whether  it  was  Man- 
uel who  had  so  touched  him, — the  boy  was  certainly 
near  him, — but  was  already  seated  with  the  Testament 
open  ready  to  read  as  requested.  The  Cardinal  raised 
himself  in  his  chair, — a  sense  of  lightness,  and  freedom, 
and  ease,  possessed  him, — the  hopeless  and  tired  feeling 
which  had  a  few  minutes  since  weighed  him  down  with 
an  undefinable  languor  was  gone, — and  his  voice  had: 
gained  new  strength  and  energy  when  he  once  more 
spoke. 

"  You  have  found  words  of  our  Lord  which  will  ex- 
press what  we  have  seen  to-day  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Manuel,  and  he  read  in  a  clear  vibrat- 
ing tone,  "  Woe  unto  you  scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypo- 
crites; because  ye  build  the  tombs  of  the  prophets  and 
garnish  the  sepulchres  of  the  righteous."  Here  he 
paused  and  said,  while  the  Cardinal  gazed  at  him  won- 
deringly,  "  Is  not  that  true  of  Paris?  There  is  their  great 
Pantheon  where  most  of  their  prophets  lie, — their  poets 
and  their  teachers  whom  they  wronged  and  slandered  in 
their  lifetime " 

"  My  child,"  interrupted  Bonpre  gently,  "  Poets  and 
so-called  teachers  are  not  always  good  men.  One 
named  Voltaire,  who  scoffed  at  God,  and  enunciated 
the  doctrine  of  materialism  in  France,  is  buried 
there." 

"  Nevertheless  he  also  was  a  prophet,"  persisted  Man- 
uel, in  his  quiet,  half-childlike,  half-scholarly  way,  "  A 
prophet  of  evil.  He  was  the  incarnation  of  the  future 
spirit  of  Paris.  He  lived  as  a  warning  of  what  was  to 
come, — a  warning  of  the  wolves  that  were  ready  to  de- 
scend upon  the  Master's  fold.  But  Paris  was  then  per- 
haps in  the  care  of  those  '  hirelings  '  who  are  mentioned 
here  as  caring  not  for  the  sheep." 

He  turned  a  few  pages  and  continued  reading. 

"  '  Well  hath  Esais  prophesied  of  you,  hypocrites,  as  it 
is  written,  This  people  honoureth  me  with  their  lips  but 
their  heart  is  far  from  me.  Howbeit  in  vain  do  they 
worship  me,  teaching  for  doctrine  the  commandments  of 
man:  " 


148  The  Master-Christian. 

He  emphasised  the  last  few  words  and  looked  up  at  the 
Cardinal,  then  he  went  on. 

"  '  Whosoever  will  come  after  me  let  him  deny  himself 
and  take  up  his  cross  and  follow  me.  For  whosoever  will 
save  his  life  shall  lose  it,  but  whosoever  shall  lose  his  life 
for  my  sake  the  same  shall  save  it.' " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cardinal  Bonpre  fervently,  "  It  is  all  there ! 
— '  Whosoever  will  come  after  me  let  him  deny  himself,' 
let  him  deny  himself!  That  is  the  secret  of  it.  Self- 
denial  !  And  this  age  is  one  of  self-indulgence.  We  are 
on  the  wrong  road,  all  of  us,  both  Church  and  laity, — and 
if  the  Master  should  come  He  will  not  find  us  watching, 
but  sleeping." 

He  broke  off,  as  at  that  moment  a  knock  came  at  the 
door  and  a  servant  entered  the  room  bringing  him  a  letter. 
It  was  from  the  Abbe  Vergniaud,  and  ran  as  follows : — 

"  TRES  CHER  MONSIGNEUR  !  I  preach  the  day  after  to- 
morrow at  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette,  and  if  you  wish  to  do 
a  favour  to  a  dying  man  you  will  come  and  hear  me.  I 
am  moved  to  say  things  I  have  never  said  before,  and  it 
is  possible  I  may  astonish  and  perchance  scandalise  Paris. 
What  inspires  me  I  do  not  know, — perhaps  your  well-de- 
served reproach  of  the  other  day — perhaps  the  beautiful 
smile  of  the  angel  that  dwells  in  Donna  Sovrani's  eyes, 
— perhaps  the  chance  meeting  with  your  Rouen  found- 
ling on  the  stairs  as  I  was  flying  away  from  your  just 
wrath.  He  had  been  gathering  roses  in  the  garden,  and 
gave  me  one  with  a  grace  in  the  giving  which  made  the 
flower  valuable.  It  still  lives  and  blooms  in  a  glass  on  my 
writing-table  at  which  I  have  been  jotting  down  the  notes 
of  what  I  mean  to  say.  What  I  mean  to  say!  There  is 
more  in  those  words  than  there  seems,  if  you  could  but 
guess  all !  I  shall  trust  to  the  day  itself  for  the  necessary 
eloquence.  The  congregation  that  assembles  at  the  Lor- 
ette is  a  curious  and  a  mixed  one.  '  Artistes  '  of  the  stage 
and  the  cafe  chantant  are  among  the  worshippers ; — 
dames  of  rank  and  fashion  who  worship  the  male 
'  artistes,'  and  the  golden  youth  of  Paris  who  adore  the 
very  points  of  the  shoes  of  the  female  ones, — are  generally 
there  also.  It  is  altogether  what  '  perfide  Albion/  or 
Dame  Grundee  would  call  a  '  fast '  audience.  And  the 
fact  that  I  have  arranged  to  preach  there  will  draw  a  still 


The  Master-Christian.  149 

greater  mixture  and  '  faster '  quality,  as  I  am,  alas ! — a 
fashion  in  preachers.  I  pray  you  to  come,  or  I  shall  think 
yon  have  not  forgiven  me ! 

"  VERGNIAUD." 

Cardinal  Bonpre  folded  the  letter  and  put  it  aside  with 
a  curious  feeling  of  compassion  for  the  writer. 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,"  he  thought,  "  I  have  never  heard  him 
preach,  though  I  know  by  report  that  he  is  popular.  I 
was  told  once  that  he  seems  to  be  possessed  by  a  very 
demon  of  mockery,  and  that  it  is  this  spirit  which  makes 
his  attraction  for  the  people;  but  I  hope  it  is  something 
more  than  that — I  hope — "  Here  interrupting  his  medi- 
tations he  turned  to  Manuel. 

"  So  you  gave  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  a  rose  the  other 
day,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Manuel,  "  He  looked  sad  when  I  met 
him, — and  sometimes  a  flower  gives  pleasure  to  a  person 
in  sorrow." 

The  Cardinal  thought  of  his  own  roses  far  away,  and 
sighed  with  a  sensation  of 'longing  and  homesickness. 

"  Flowers  are  like  visible  messages  from  God,"  he  said, 
"  Messages  written  in  all  the  brightest  and  loveliest  col- 
ours !  I  never  gather  one  without  finding  out  that  it  has 
something  to  say  to  me." 

'''  There  is  a  legend,"  said  Manuel,  "  which  tells  how  a 
poor  girl  who  has  lost  every  human  creature  she  loved  on 
earth,  had  a  rose-tree  she  was  fond  of,  and  every  day  she 
found  upon  it  just  one  bloom.  And  though  she  longed 
to  gather  the  flower  for  herself  she  would  not  do  so,  but 
always  placed  it  before  the  picture  of  the  Christ.  And 
God  saw  her  do  this,  as  He  sees  everything.  At  last, 
quite  suddenly  she  died,  and  when  she  found  herself  in 
Heaven,  there  were  such  crowds  and  crowds  of  angels 
about  her  that  she  was  bewildered,  and  could  not  find  her 
way.  All  at  once  she  saw  a  pathway  edged  with  roses 
before  her,  and  one  of  the  angels  said,'  These  are  all  the 
roses  you  gave  to  our  Lord  on  earth,  and  He  has  made 
them  into  a  pathway  for  you  which  will  lead  you  straight 
to  those  you  love ! '  And  so  with  great  joy  she  followed 
the  windings  of  the  path,  seeing  her  roses  blossoming  all 
the  way.  and  she  found  all  those  whom  she  had  loved  and 
lost  on  earth  waiting  to  welcome  her  at  the  end !  " 


150  The  Master-Christian. 

"  A  pretty  fancy,"  said  the  Cardinal  smiling,  "  And,  as 
not  even  a  thought  is  wasted,  who  knows  if  it  might  not 
prove  true  ?  " 

"  Surely  the  beautiful  must  be  the  true  always !  "  said 
Manuel. 

"  Not  so,  my  child, — a  fair  face  may  hide  an  evil  soul." 

"  But  only  for  a  little  while,"  answered  the  boy,  "  The 
evil  soul  must  leave  its  impress  on  the  face  in  time,  if  life 
lasts  long  enough." 

"  That  is  quite  possible,"  said  Bonpre,  "  In  fact,  I  think 
it  often  happens, — only  there  are  some  people  who  simu- 
late the  outward  show  of  goodness  and  purity  perfectly, 
while  inwardly  '  they  are  as  ravening  wolves,'  and  they 
never  seem  to  drop  the  mask.  Others  again —  Here 

he  paused  and  looked  anxiously  at  his  young  companion, 
"  I  wonder  what  you  will  be  like  when  you  grow  up, 
Manuel !  " 

"  But  if  I  never  grow  up,  what  then  ?  "  asked  Manuel 
with  a  smile. 

"  Never  grow  up?     You  mean " 

"  I  mean  if  I  die,"  said  Mamiel,  "  or  pass  through  what 
is  called  dying  before  I  grow  up  ?  " 

"  God  forbid !  "  said  the  Cardinal  gently,  "  I  would 
have  you  live " 

"  But  why,"  persisted  Manuel,  "  since  death  is  a  better 
life?" 

Bonpre  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"  But  if  you  grow  up  and  are  good  and  great,  you  may 
be  wanted  in  the  world,"  he  said. 

An  expression  of  deep  pain  swept  like  a  shadow  across 
the  boy's  fair  open  brow. 

"  Oh  no !  "  he  said  quietly,  "  the  world  does  not  want 
me !  And  yet  I  love  the  world — not  because  it  is  a  world, 
for  there  are  millions  upon  millions  of  worlds, — they  are 

as  numerous  as  flowers  in  a  garden but  because  it 

is  a  sorrowful  world, — a  mistaken  world, — and  because  all 
the  creatures  in  it  have  something  of  God  in  them.  Yes, 
I  love  the  world ! — but  the  world  does  not  love  me." 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  gentle  pathos,  with  the  resigned 
and  patient  air  of  one  who  feels  the  burden  of  solitude  and 
the  sense  of  miscomprehension.  And  closing  the  Testa- 
ment he  held  he  rested  his  clasped  hands  upon  it,  and  for 
a  moment  seemed  lost  in  sorrowful  reverie. 


The  Master-Christian.  151 

"  I  love  you,"  said  the  Cardinal  tenderly,  "  And  I  will 
take  care  of  you  as  well  as  I  can." 

Manuel  looked  up  at  him. 

"  And  that  will  be  well  indeed,  my  lord  Cardinal !  "  he 
said  softly,  "  And  you  serve  a  Master  who  will  hereafter 
say  to  you,  remembering  your  goodness, — '  Verily,  in  as- 
much  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  my  brethren  ye 
have  done  it  unto  Me.'  " 

He  smiled ;  and  the  Cardinal  meeting  his  glance  won- 
dered whether  it  was  the  strong  level  light  of  the  sinking 
sun  through  the  window-pane  that  made  such  a  glory 
shine  upon  his  face,  and  gave  such  a  brilliancy  to  his  deep 
and  steadfast  eyes. 


XL 

MEANWHILE,  Angela  Sovrani  was  detained  in  her  stu- 
dio by  the  fascinating  company  and  bewildering  chatter 
of  a  charming  and  very  well-known  personage  in  Europe, 
— a  dainty,  exquisitely  dressed  piece  of  femininity  with 
the  figure  of  a  sylph  and  the  complexion  of  a  Romney 
"  Lady  Hamilton," — the  Comtesse  Sylvie  Hermenstein, 
an  Austro-Hungarian  of  the  prettiest  and  most  bewitch- 
ing type,  who  being  a  thorough  bohemienne  in  spirit,  and 
having  a  large  fortune  at  her  disposal,  travelled  every- 
where, saw  everything,  and  spent  great  sums  of  money 
not  only  in  amusing  herself,  but  in  doing  good  wherever 
she  went.  By  society  in  general,  she  was  voted  "  thor- 
oughly heartless," — when  as  a  matter  of  fact  she  had  too 
much  heart,  and  gave  her  "  largesse  "  of  sympathy  some- 
what too  indiscriminately.  Poor  people  worshipped  her, 
— the  majority  of  the  rich  envied  her  because  most  of 
them  had  ties  and  she  had  none.  She  might  have  mar- 
ried scores  of  times,  but  she  took  a  perverse  pleasure  in 
"drawing  on"  her  admirers  till  they  were  just  on  the 
giddy  brink  of  matrimony, — then  darting  off  altogether 
she  left  them  bewildered,  confused,  and  not  a  little  angry. 

"  They  tell  me  I  cannot  love,  cara  mia,"  she  was  say- 
ing now  to  Angela  who  sat  in  pleased  silence,  studying 
her  form,  her  colouring,  and  her  animated  expression, 
with  all  the  ardour  of  an  artist  who  knows  how  difficult 
it  is  to  catch  the  swift  and  variable  flashes  of  beauty  on 
the  face  of  a  pretty  woman,  who  is  intelligent  as  well  as 
personally  charming,  "  They  tell  me  I  have  no  heart  at 
all.  Me — Sylvie ! — no  heart !  Helas  ! — I  am  all  heart ! 
But  to  love  one  of  those  stupid  heavy  men,  who  think 
that  just  to  pull  a  moustache  and  smile  is  sufficient  to 
make  a  conquest — ah,  no ! — not  for  me !  Yet  I  am  now 
in  love ! — truly ! — ah,  you  laugh  ! — "  and  she  laughed  her- 
self, shaking  her  pretty  head,  adorned  with  its  delicate 
"  creation  "  in  gossamer  and  feathers,  which  was  sup- 
posed to  be  a  hat "  Yes,  I  am  in  love  with  the  Marquis 

152 


The  Master-Christian.  153 

Fontenelle !  Ah ! — le  beau  Marquis  !  He  is  so  extraor- 
dinary ! — so  beautiful ! — so  wicked !  It  must  be  that  I 
love  him,  or  why  should  I  trouble  myself  about  him  ?  " 

She  spread  out  her  tiny  gloved  hands  appealingly,  with 
a  delightful  little  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  and  again  An- 
gela laughed. 

"  He  is  good-looking,  certainly,"  she  said,  "  He  is  very 
like  Miraudin.  They  might  almost  be  brothers." 

"  Miraudin,  ce  cher  Miraudin ! "  exclaimed  the 
Comtesse  gaily,  "  The  greatest  actor  in  Europe !  Yes, 
truly ! — I  go  to  the  theatre  to  look  at  him  and  I  almost 
fancy  I  am  in  love  with  him  instead  of  Fontenelle,  till 
I  remember  he  stage-manages; — ah! — then  I  shudder  1 

and  my  shudder  kills  my  love !  After  all  it  is  only 

his  resemblance  to  the  Marquis  that  causes  the  love, — 
and  perhaps  the  shudder !  " 

"  Sylvie,  Sylvie !  "  laughed  Angela,  "  Can  you  not  be 
serious  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  declared  Sylvie,  "  Miraudin  used 
to  be  the  darling  of  all  the  sentimental  old  maids  and 
little  school-girls  who  did  not  know  him  off  the  stage. 
In  Paris,  in  Rome,  in  Vienna,  in  Buda-Pesth — always  a 
conqueror  of  ignorant  women  who  saw  him  in  his  beau- 
tiful '  make-up  ' !  Yes,  he  was  perfectly  delightful, — 
this  big  Miraudin,  till  he  became  his  own  manager  and 
his  own  leading  actor  as  well !  Helas !  What  it  is  to  be 
a  manager!  Do  you  know?  It  is  to  keep  a  harem  like  a 
grand  Turk ; — and  woe  betide  the  woman  who  joins  the 
company  without  understanding  that  she  is  to  be  one  of  the 
many !  The  sultana  is  the  '  leading  lady  '.  Poor  Mirau- 
din ! — he  must  have  many  little  faggots  to  feed  his  flame ! 
Oh,  you  look  so  shocked!  But  the  Marquis  is  just  like 
him, — he  also  stage-manages." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  Ah,  he  has  an  enormous  theatre, — the  world !  A  big 
stage, — society !  The  harem  is  always  being  replenished ! 
And  he  plays  his  part  so  well !  He  has  what  the  wise- 
acres call  '  perverted  morals  ', — they  are  so  charming ! — 
and  he  will  not  marry.  He  says,  '  Why  give  myself  to 
one  when  I  can  make  so  many  happy ! '  And  why  will 
not  I,  Sylvie  Hermenstein,  be  one  of  those  many?  Why 
will  I  not  yield  to  the  embraces  of  Monsieur  le  beau 
Marquis?  Not  to  marry  him, — oh,  no!  so  free  a  bird 


154  The  Master-Christian. 

could  not  have  his  wings  clipped !  And  why  will  I  not 
see  the  force  of  this? " 

She  stopped,  for  Angela  sprang  towards  her  exclaiming, 

"  Sylvie !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  Marquis 
Fontenelle  is  such  a  villain? " 

"  Tais-toi!  Dear  little  flame  of  genius,  how  you 
blaze !  "  cried  Sylvie,  catching  her  friend  by  the  hand 
and  kissing  it,  "  Do  not  call  Fontenelle  a  villain — he  is 
too  charming! — and  he  is  only  like  a  great  many  other 
men.  He  is  a  bold  and  passionate  person;  I  rather  like 
such  characters, — and  I  really  am  afraid — afraid — "  here 
she  hesitated,  then  resumed,  "  He  loves  me  for  the  mo- 
ment, Angela,  and  I — I  very  much  fear  I  love  him  for  a 
little  longer  than  that!  C'est  terrible  I  He  is  by  no 
means  worthy  of  it, — no,  but  .what  does  that  matter !  We 
women  never  count  the  cost  of  loving — we  simply  love ! 
If  I  see  much  of  him  I  shall  probably  sink  into  the  Quar- 
tier  Latin  of  love — for  there  is  a  Quartier  Latin  as  well 
as  a  high  class  Faubourg  in  the  passion, — I  prefer  the 
Faubourg  I  confess,  because  it  is  so  high,  and  respecta- 
ble, and  clean,  and  grand but " 

"  Sylvie,"  said  Angela  determinedly,  "  You  must  come 
away  from  Paris, you  must  not  see  this  man — 

"  That  is  what  I  have  arranged  to  do,"  said  Sylvie,  her 
beautiful  violet  eyes  flashing  with  mirth  and  malice  in- 
termingled, "  I  am  flying  from  Paris  ...  I  shall  perhaps 
go  to  Rome  in  order  to  be  near  you.  You  are  a  living 
safety  in  a  storm, — you  are  so  serene  and  calm.  And 
then  you  have  a  lover  who  believes  in  the  ideal  and  per- 
fect sympathy." 

Angela  smiled, — and  Sylvie  Hermenstein  noted  the 
warm  and  tender  flush  of  pleasure  that  spread  over  her 
fair  face. 

"  Yes,  Florian  is  an  idealist,"  she  said,  "  There  is  noth- 
ing of  the  brute  in  him." 

"And  you  think  Fontenelle  a  brute?"  queried  Sylvie, 
"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  is ;  but  I  have  sometimes  thought  that 
all  men  are  very  much  alike, — except  Florian !  "  She 
paused,  looking  rather  dubiously,  and  with  a  touch  of 
compassion  at  Angela,  "  Well ! — you  deserve  to  be  happy, 
child,  and  I  hope  you  will  be !  For  myself,  I  am  going 
to  run  away  from  Monsieur  le  Marquis  with  as  much 
speed  as  if  I  had  stolen  his  watch !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  155 

"  It  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  said  Angela  with  a 
little  sigh  of  relief,  "  I  am  glad  you  are  resolved." 

Comtesse  Sylvie  rose  from  her  chair  and  moved  about 
the  studio  with  a  pretty  air  of  impatience. 

"If  his  love  for  me  could  last,"  she  said,  "  I  might 
stay !  I  would  love  him  with  truth  and  passion,  and  I 
would  so  influence  him  that  he  should  become  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  leading  men  of  his  time.  For  he  has 
all  the  capabilities  of  genius, — but  they  are  dormant, — 
and  the  joys  of  self-indulgence  appeal  to  him  more 
strongly  than  high  ambition  and  attainment.  And  he 
could  not  love  any  women  for  more  than  a  week  or  a 
month  at  most, — in  which  temperament  he  exactly  re- 
sembles the  celebrated  Miraudin.  Now  I  do  not  care  to 

be  loved  for  a  week  or  a  month 1  wish  to  be  loved  for 

always, — for  always !  "  she  said  with  emphasis,  "  Just 
as  your  Florian  loves  you." 

Angela's  eyes  grew  soft  and  pensive. 

"  Few  men  are  like  Florian,"  she  said. 

Again  Sylvie  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  and  there  was 
a  moment's  silence.  Then  Sylvie  resumed. 

"  \Yill  you  help  me  to  give  a  little  lesson  to  Monsieur  le 
Marquis,  Angela  ?  " 

"  Willingly,  if  I  can.     But  how?" 

"  In  this  way.  It  is  a  little  drama !  To-morrow  is  Sat- 
urday and  you  '  receive.'  '  Tout  Paris  ',  artistic  Paris, 
at  any  rate,  flocks  to  your  studio.  Your  uncle,  the  Car- 
dinal Bonpre,  is  known  to  be  with  you,  and  your  visitors 
will  be  still  more  numerous.  I  have  promised  Fontenelle 
to  meet  him  here.  I  am  to  give  him  his  answer " 

"  To  what  ?  "  enquired  Angela. 

"  To  his  proposal." 

"Of  marriage?" 

"  Dear  me,  no !  "  And  Sylvie  smiled,  but  there  was  a 
look  of  pain  in  her  eyes,  "  He  has  an  idyllic  house  buried 
in  the  Foret  St.  Germain,  and  he  wants  me  to  take  pos- 
session .  .  .  you  know  the  rest!  He  is  a  villain?  Yes 
— he  is  like  Miraudin,  who  has  a  luxurious  flat  in  Paris 
and  sends  each  lady  of  his  harem  there  in  turn.  How 
angry  you  look !  But,  my  dear,  I  am  not  going  to  the 
house  in  the  Foret,  and  I  shall  not  meet  him  here.  He 

will  come looking  charming  as  usual,  and  he  will 

wait  for  me ;  but  I  shall  not  arrive.  All  I  want  you  to  do 


156 


The  Master-Christian. 


for  me  is  to  receive  him  very  kindly,  talk  to  him  very 
Sweetly,  and  tell  him  quite  suddenly  that  I  have  left 
Paris." 

"  What  good  will  that  do  ?  "  enquired  Angela,  "  Could 
you  not  write  it  to  him  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  could  write  it  to  him  but —  '  Here 
Sylvie  paused  and  turned  away  her  head.  Angela,  moved 
by  quick  instinct,  went  to  her  and  put  her  arm  around 
her  waist. 

"  Now  there  are  tears  in  your  eyes,  Sylvie,"  she  said, 
"  You  are  suffering  for  this  man's  heartlessness  and 
cruelty.  For  it  is  heartless, — it  is  insulting,  and  selfish, 
and  cruel  to  offer  you  nothing  but  dishonour  if  he  knows 
you  love  him." 

Sylvie  took  out  a  tiny  cobweb  of  a  lace  handkerchief 
and  dried  her  tears. 

"  No,  I  will  not  have  him  called  heartless,  or  cruel," 
she  said,  "  He  is  merely  one  of  his  class.  There  are  hun- 
dreds like  him  in  Paris.  Never  mind  my  tears ! — they  are 
nothing.  There  are  hundreds  of  women  who  would  ac- 
cept his  proposals, — and  he  thinks  I  must  be  like  them, 
— ready  to  fall  into  his  arms  like  a  ripe  peach  at  a  touch ! 
He  thinks  all  I  say  to  him  is  an  assumed  affectation  of 
virtue,  and  that  he  can  easily  break  down  that  slight  bar- 
ricade. He  tells  me  I  am  a  charming  preacher,  but  that 
he  could  never  learn  anything  from  sermons !  "  She 
laughed,  "  Oh,  he  is  incorrigible !  But  I  want  you  to  let 
him  know  that  for  once  he  is  mistaken.  Will  you?  And 
you  shall  not  have  to  say  even  the  smallest  figment  of  an 
untruth, — your  news  will  be  quite  correct — for  I  leave 
Paris  to-morrow  morning." 

She  was  very  quiet  now  as  she  spoke — her  brilliant 
eyes  were  dark  with  thought,  and  her  delicate  face  wore 
a  serious,  almost  melancholy  expression. 

"  Dear  Sylvie !  "  said  Angela,  kissing  her  soft  cheek, 
"  You  really  care  for  this  wretched  man  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  answered  with  a  touch  of  hesita- 
tion in  her  voice,  "  I  think  I  do — and  yet  despise  myself 

for  it! but — who  knows  what  wonders  change  of  air 

and  scene  may  work !  You  see,  if  I  go  away  he  will  for- 
get at  once,  and  will  trouble  himself  about  me  no  more." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

Sylvie  hesitated. 


The  Master-Christian.  157 

'  Well,  no,  I  cannot  be  quite  certain, — you  see  no  wo- 
man has  ever  avoided  him, — it  will  be  quite  a  new  expe- 
rience for  him,  and  a  strange  one !  "  Her  laughter  rippled 
out  musically  on  the  air.  "  Positively  I  do  not  think  he 
will  ever  get  over  it !  " 

"  I  begin  to  understand,"  said  Angela,  "  You  wish  to 
make  this  callous  man  of  the  world  realise  that  a  woman 
may  be  beautiful,  and  brilliant,  and  independent,  and  yet 
live  a  pure,  good  life  amid  numerous  temptations  ?  " 

"  Yes, — I  wish  him  to  feel  that  all  women  are  not  to 
be  led  away  by  flattery,  or  even  by  the  desire  to  be  loved, 
which  is  the  hardest  temptation  of  all  to  resist !  Nothing 
so  hard  as  that,  Angela !  Xothing  so  hard  !  I  have  often 
thought  what  a  contemptible  creature  Goethe's  Gretchen 
was  to  allow  herself  to  be  tempted  to  ruin  with  a  box  of 
jewels!  Jewels!  Worthless  baubles !  I  would  not  cross 
the  road  to  look  at  the  biggest  diamond  in  the  world !  But 
to  be  loved !  To  feel  that  you  are  all  in  all  to  one  man 
out  of  the  whole  world !  That  would  be  glorious !  That 
I  have  never  felt — that  I  shall  never  know !  " 

Angela  looked  at  her  sympathetically, — what  a  strange 
thing  it  was,  she  thought,  that  this  pretty  creature,  with 
her  winsome,  bright,  bewitching  ways,  should  be  craving 
for  love,  while  she,  Angela  Sovrani,  was  elected  to  the 
happiness  of  having  the  absolute  devotion  of  such  an 
ideal  lover  as  Florian  Varillo! 

"  But  I  am  becoming  quite  tragic  in  my  remarks," 
went  on  Sylvie,  resuming  her  usual  gaiety,  "  Melodra- 
matic, as  they  say!  If  I  go  on  in  this  manner  I  shall 
qualify  to  be  the  next  '  leading  lady '  to  Miraudin ! 
Quelle  honneur!  Good-bye  Angela; — I  will  not  tell  you 
where  I  am  going  lest  Fontenelle  should  ask  you, — and 
then  you  would  have  to  commit  yourself  to  a  falsehood, — 
it  is  enough  to  say  I  have  left  Paris." 

"  Shall  I  see  you  again  soon  ?  "  said  Angela,  holding 
her  by  both  hands  and  looking  at  her  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  very  soon,  before  the  winter  is  over  at  any  rate. 
You  sweet,  calm,  happy  Angela!  I  wonder  if  anything 
could  ever  whip  you  in  a  storm !  " 

"Would  you  like  to  see  me  in  a  stormy  humour?" 
asked  Angela,  smiling. 

"  No,  not  exactly ; — but, — you  are  too  quiet, — too  se- 
cure— too  satisfied  in  your  art  and  your  surroundings; 


158  The  Master-Christian. 

and  you  do  not  enter  at  all  into  the  passions  and  griefs 
of  other  people.  You  are  absorbed  in  your  love  and  your 
work, — a  beautiful  existence !  Only  I  hope  the  gods 
will  not  wake  you  up  some  day !  " 

"  I  am  not  asleep,"  said  Angela,  "  nor  dreaming." 

"  Yes  you  are !  You  dream  of  beautiful  things, — and 
the  world  is  full  of  ugly  ones;  you  dream  of  love  and 
constancy,  and  purity, — and  the  world  is  full  of  spite, 
and  hate,  and  bribery,  and  wickedness ;  you  have  a  world 
of  your  own, — but  Angela,  it  is  a  glass  world ! — in  which 
only  the  exquisite  colours  of  your  own  soul  are  reflected, 
take  care  that  the  pretty  globe  does  not  break ! — for  if  it 
does  you  will  never  be  able  to  put  it  together  again ! 
Adieu !  " 

"  Adieu !  "  and  Angela  returned  her  loving  embrace 
with  equal  affection,  "  I  will  announce  your  departure 
to  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  to-morrow." 

"  You  will  ?  Sweet  Angela !  And  when  you  hear  from 
me,  and  know  where  I  am,  you  will  write  me  a  long,  long 
letter  and  tell  me  how  he  looked,  and  what  he  said,  and 
whether  he  seemed  sorry  or  indifferent,  or  angry,  or 
ashamed or " 

Before  she  could  finish  the  sentence  the  studio  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  the  servant  announced,  "  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  Fontenelle !  " 


XII. 

A  MOMENT'S  flashing  glance  of  half-amused  dismay  at 
Angela,  and  the  Comtesse  Sylvie  had  vanished.  Passing 
quickly  behind  one  of  the  several  tall  tapestry  screens 
that  adorned  the  studio,  she  slipped  away  through  a  lit- 
tle private  door  at  which  Angela's  "  models  "  presented 
themselves,  a  door  which  led  into  the  garden  and  then 
into  the  Bois,  and  making  straight  for  her  carriage  which 
was  in  waiting  round  the  corner,  she  sprang  into  it  and 
was  rapidly  driven  away.  Meanwhile,  Angela  Sovrani, 
rather  bewildered  by  her  friend's  swift  departure,  was 
left  alone  to  face  the  Marquis,  who  entered  almost  on 
the  heels  of  the  servant  who  announced  him,  and  in  one 
swift  survey  of  the  studio  saw  that  the  object  of  his 
search  was 'not  there.  Concealing  his  disappointment, 
however,  under  an  admirable  show  of  elegant  indiffer- 
ence, he  advanced  towards  Angela  and  saluted  her  with 
a  courtly  old-world  grace  that  very  well  became  his  hand- 
some face  and  figure. 

"  I  must  apologise  for  this  intrusion,"  he  said,  speak- 
ing in  deep,  soft  accents  which  gave  a  singular  charm  to 
his  simplest  words,  "  But — to  be  quite  frank  with  you — I 
thought  I  should  find  the  Comtesse  Hermenstein  here." 

Angela  smiled.  In  her  heart  she  considered  the  man 
a  social  reprobate,  but  it  was  impossible  to  hear  him 
speak,  and  equally  impossible  to  look  at  him  without  a 
vague  sense  of  pleasure  in  his  company. 

"  Sylvie  was  here  a  moment  ago,"  she  answered,  still 
smiling. 

The  Marquis  took  one  or  two  quick  impulsive  steps 
forward — then  checking  himself,  stopped  short,  and  se- 
lecting a  chair  deliberately  sat  down. 

"  I  understand !  "  he  said,  "  She  wished  to  avoid  me, 
and  she  has  done  so.  Well ! — I  would  not  run  after  her 
for  the  world.  She  must  be  perfectly  free." 

Angela  looked  at  him  with  a  somewhat  puzzled  air. 


160  The  Master-Christian. 

She  felt  herself  in  a  delicate  and  awkward  position.  To 
be  of  any  use  in  this  affair  now  seemed  quite  impossible. 
Her  commission  was  to  have  told  the  Marquis  that  Syl- 
vie  had  left  Paris,  but  she  could  not  say  that  now  as 
Sylvie  was  still  in  the  city.  Was  she  supposed  to  know 
anything  about  the  Marquis's  dishonourable  proposals  to 
her  friend  ?  Surely  not !  Then  what  was  she  to  do  ? 
She  stood  hesitating,  glancing  at  the  fine,  clear-cut,  clean- 
shaven face  of  Fontenelle,  the  broad  intellectual  brows, 
and  the  brilliant  hazel  eyes  with  their  languid,  half-satir- 
ical expression,  and  her  perplexity  increased.  Certainly 
he  was  a  man  with  a  grand  manner, — the  manner  of  one 
of  those  never-to-be-forgotten  haughty  and  careless  aris- 
tocrats of  the  "  Reign  of  Terror  "  who  half  redeemed 
their  vicious  lives  by  the  bravery  with  which 'they  faced 
the  guillotine.  Attracted,  yet  repelled  by  him,  An- 
gela had  always  been, — even  when  she  had  known  no 
more  of  him  than  is  known  of  a  casual  acquaintance  met 
at  different  parties  and  reunions,  but  now  that  she  was 
aware  of  Sylvie's  infatuation,  the  mingled  attraction  and 
revulsion  became  stronger,  and  she  caught  herself  wish- 
ing fervently  that  the  Marquis  would  rouse  himself  from 
his  lethargy  of  pleasure,  and  do  justice  to  the  capabilities 
which  Nature  had  evidently  endowed  him  with,  if  a  fine 
head  and  noble  features  are  to  be  taken  as  exponents  of 
character.  Fontenelle  himself,  meanwhile,  leaning  care- 
lessly back  in  the  chair  he  had  taken,  looked  at  her  with 
a  little  quizzical  lifting  of  his  eyebrows. 

"  You  are  very  silent,  mademoiselle,"  he  broke  out  at 
last,  "  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

At  this  straight  question  Angela  recovered  her  equa- 
nimity. 

"  I  had  something  to  say  to  you,  Marquis,"  she  an- 
swered quietly,  "  but  it  was  to  have  been  said  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow?  Ah,  yes!  You  receive  your  world  of 
art  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "  and  I  was  to  come  and  meet 
la  Comtesse, — and  of  course  she  would  not  have  been 
here !  I  felt  that  by  a  natural  instinct !  Something  psy- 
chological— something  occult !  I  saw  her  carriage  pass 
my  windows  up  the  Champs  Elysees, — and  I  followed  in 
a  common  fiacre.  I  seldom  ride  in  a  common  fiacre,  but 
this  time  I  did  so.  It  was  an  excitement — la  chasse! 
I  saw  the  little  beauty  arrive  at  your  door, — I  gave  her 


The  Master-Christian.  161 

time  to  pour  out  all  her  confidences, — and  then  I  arranged 
with  myself  and  le  bon  Dieu  to  escort  her  home." 

"  You  arranged  well,"  said  Angela,  inclined  to  laugh 
at  his  easy  audacity,  "  but  le  bon  Dieu  was  evidently  not 
of  your  opinion, — and  you  must  remember  that  the  most 
excellent  arrangements  are  not  always  carried  out." 

"  True !  "  and  Fontenelle  smiled,  "  In  the  case  of  the 
fascinating  Sylvie,  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  had  so 
much  trouble  about  a  woman.  It  is  interesting,  but  vex- 
atious. Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  have  to  give  up  and 
gallop  off  the  hunting-field  altogether — " 

"  Excuse  me,  Marquis,"  said  Angela  coldly,  "  Sylvie 

Hermenstein  is  my  friend Pray  understand  that  I 

cannot  allow  her  to  be  spoken  of  in  the  tone  of  badinage 
you  are  pleased  to  assume." 

He  looked  up  with  a  curious  air  of  surprise  and  mock 
penitence. 

"  Pardon !  But  there  is  no  badinage  at  all  about  the 
very  serious  position  in  which  I  find  myself,"  he  said, 
"  You,  mademoiselle,  as  a  woman,  have  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  the  anxiety  and  trouble  your  charming  sex  gives 

to  ours.  That  is,  of  course,  when  you  are  charming 

which  is  not  always.  Now  Sylvie,  your  friend  Sylvie — 
is  so  distinctly  charming  that  she  becomes  provoking  and 
irritating.  I  am  sure  she  has  told  you  I  am  a  terrible 
villain 

"  She  has  never  said  so, — never  spoken  one  word 
against  you !  "  interposed  Angela. 

"  No  ?  That  is  curious — very  curious !  But  then  Syl- 
vie is  curious.  You  see  the  position  is  this ; 1  wish 

to  give  her  all  I  am  worth  in  the  world,  but  she  will  not 
have  it, — I  wish  to  love  her,  but  she  will  not  be  loved — " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Angela,  gaining  courage  to  speak 
plainly,  "  Perhaps  your  love  is  not  linked  with  honour?  " 

"Honour?"  echoed  the  Marquis,  lifting  his  finely 
arched  eyebrows,  "  You  mean  marriage  ?  No — I  confess 
I  am  not  guilty  of  so  much  impudence.  For  why  should 
the  brilliant  Sylvie  become  the  Marquise  Fontenelle?  It 
would  be  a  most  unhappy  fate  for  her,  because  if  there 
were  a  Marquise  Fontenelle,  my  principles  would  oblige 
me  to  detest  her !  " 

"  You  would  detest  your  own  wife !  "  said  Angela  sur- 
prised. 


1 62  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Naturally !  It  is  the  fashion.  To  love  one's  wife 
would  be  petite  bourgoisie  — nothing  more  absurd !  It  is 
the  height  of  good  form  to  neglect  one's  wife  and  adore 
one's  mistress, — the  arrangement  works  perfectly  and 
keeps  a  man  well*  balanced, — perpetual  complaint  on  one 
side,  perpetual  delight  on  the  other." 

He  laughed,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  satirically. 

"  Are  you  serious  ?  "  asked  Angela. 

"  I  never  was  more  serious  in  my  life,"  declared  the 
Marquis  emphatically,  "  With  all  my  heart  I  wish  to 
make  the  delicious  pink  and  white  Sylvie  happy, — I  am 
sure  I  could  succeed  in  my  way.  If  I  should  ever  allow 
myself  to  do  such  a  dull  thing  as  to  marry, — imagine  it ! 
— such  a  dull  and  altogether  prosy  thing! — my  gardener 
did  it  yesterday; — I  should  of  course  choose  a  person 
with  a  knowledge  of  housekeeping  and  small  details, — 
her  happiness  it  would  be  quite  unnecessary  to  consider. 
The  maintenance  of  the  establishment,  the  servants,  and 
the  ever  increasing  train  of  milliners  and  dressmakers 
would  be  enough  to  satisfy  Madame  la  Marquise's  am- 
bitions. But  for  Sylvie, — half-fairy,  half-angel  as  she 
is, — there  must  be  poetry  and  moonlight,  flowers,  and  ro- 
mance, and  music,  and  tender  nothings, — marriage  does 
not  consort  with  these  delights.  If  you  were  a  little 
school-girl,  dear  Donna  Sovrani,  I  should  not  talk  to  you 
in  this  way, — it  would  not  be  proper, — it  would  savour 
of  Lord  Byron,  and  Maeterlinck,  and  Heinrich  Heine, 
and  various  other  wicked  persons.  It  would  give  you 
what  the  dear  governesses  would  call  '  les  idees  folles ', 
but  being  an  artist,  a  great  artist,  you  will  understand 
rrfe.  Now,  you  yourself you  will  not  marry  ?  " 

"  I  am  to  be  married  next  year  if  all  is  well,  to  Florian 
Varillo,"  said  Angela,  "Surely  you  know  that?" 

"  I  have  heard  it,  but  I  will  not  believe  it,"  said  the 
Marquis  airily,  "  No,  no,  you  will  never  marry  this 
Florian  !  Do  not  tell  me  of  it !  You  yourself  will  regret 
it.  It  is  impossible !  You  could  not  submit  to  matri- 
monial bondage.  If  you  were  plain  and  awkward  I  should 
say  to  you,  marry,  and  marry  quickly,  it  is  the  only  thing 
for  you ! — but  being  what  you  are,  charming  and  gifted, 
why  should  you  be  married?  For  protection?  Every 
man  who  has  once  had  the  honour  of  meeting  you  will 
constitute  himself  your  defender  by  natural  instinct.  For 


The  Master-Christian.  163 

respectability?  Ah,  but  marriage  is  no  longer  respecta- 
bk, — the  whole  estate  of  matrimony  is  as  full  of  bribery 
and  corruption  as  the  French  War  Office." 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed,  run- 
ning one  hand  through  his  hair  \vith  a  provoking  man- 
ner of  indifferent  ease  and  incorrigible  lightheartedness. 

"  I  cannot  argue  with  you  on  the  matter,"  said  An- 
gela, rather  vexedly,  "  Your  ideas  of  life  never  will  be 
mine, — women  look  at  these  things  differently  .  .  .  " 

"  Poor  dear  women !  Yes ! — they  do,"  said  the  Mar- 
quis, "  And  that  is  such  a  pity, — they  spoil  all  the  pleas- 
ure of  their  lives.  Now,  just  think  for  a  moment  what 
your  friend  Sylvie  is  losing!  A  devoted,  ardent  and  pas- 
sionate lover  who  would  spare  no  pains  to  make  her 
happy, — who  would  cherish  her  tenderly,  and  make  her- 
days  a  dream  of  romance !  I  had  planned  in  my  mind 
such  a  charming  boudoir  for  Sylvie,  all  ivory  and  white 
satin, — flowers,  and  a  soft  warm  light  falling  through 
the  windows, — imagine  Sylvie,  with  that  delicate  face  of 
hers  and  white  rose  skin,  a  sylph  clad  in  floating  lace 
and  drapery,  seen  in  a  faint  pink  hue  as  of  a  late  sunset ! 
You  are  an  artist,  mademoiselle,  and  you  can  picture  the 
fairy-like  effect !  I  certainly  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that 
this  exquisite  vision  occupies  my  thoughts, — it  is  a  sug- 
gestion of  beauty  and  deliciousness  in  a  particularly  ugly 
and  irksome  world, — but  to  ask  such  a  dainty  creature  as 
Sylvie  to  be  my  housekeeeper,  and  make  up  the  trades- 
men's books,  I  could  not, — it  would  be  sheer  insolence 
on  my  part, — it  would  bejike  asking  an  angel  just  out 
of  heaven  to  cut  off  her  wings  and  go  downstairs  and 
cook  my  dinner !  " 

"  You  please  yourself  and  your  own  fanciful  tempera- 
ment by  those  arguments,"  said  Angela, — "  but  they  are 
totally  without  principle.  Oh,  why,"  and  raising  her 
eyes,  she  fixed  them  on  him  with  an  earnest  look,  "  Why 
will  you  not  understand  ?  Sylvie  is  good  and  pure, — why 
would  you  persuade  her  to  be  otherwise  ?  " 

Fontenelle  rose  and  took  one  or  two  turns  up  and  down 
the  room  before  replying. 

"  I  expect  you  will  never  comprehend  me,"  he  said  at 
last,  stopping  before  Angela,  "  In  fact,  I  confess  some- 
times I  do  not  comprehend  mvself.  Of  course  Sylvie  is 
good  and  pure 1  know  that ;-  -I  should  not  be  so  vio- 


164 


The  Master-Christian. 


lently  in  love  with  her  if  she  were  not but  I  do  not 

see  that  her  acceptance  of  me  as  a  lover  would  make  her 
anything  else  than  good  and  pure.  Because  I  know  that 
she  would  be  faithful  to  me." 

"  Faithful  to  you — yes ! — while  you  were  faithless  to 
her !  "  said  Angela,  with  a  generous  indignation  in  her 
voice,  "  You  would  expect  her  to  be  true  while  you 
amused  yourself  with  other  women.  A  one-sided  ar- 
rangement truly !  " 

The  Marquis  seemed  unmoved. 

"  Every  relation  between  the  sexes  is  one-sided,"  he 
declared,  "  It  is  not  my  fault !  The  woman  gives  all  to 
one, — the  man  gives  a  little  to  many.  I  really  am  not  to 
blame  for  falling  in  with  this  general  course  of  things. 
'You  look  very  angry  with  me,  Donna  Sovrani,  and  your 
eyes  positively  abash  me; — you  are  very  loyal  to  your 
friend  and  I  admire  you  for  it ;  but  after  all,  why  should 
you  be  so  hard  upon  me?  I  am  no  worse  than  Varillo." 

Angela  started,  and  her  cheeks  crimsoned. 

"  Than  Varillo  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  Varillo  has  Pon-Pon, — of  course  she  is  use- 
ful  what  he  would  do  without  her  I  am  sure  I  can- 
not imagine, — still  she  is  Pon-Pon." 

He  paused,  checked  by  Angela's  expression. 

"  Please  explain  yourself,  Marquis,"  she  said  in 
cold,  calm  accents,  "  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand 
you." 

Fontenelle  glanced  at  her  and  saw  that  her  face  had 
grown  as  pale  as  it  was  recently  flushed,  and  that  her  lips 
were  tightly  set ;  and  in  a  vague  way  he  was  sorry  to  have 
spoken.  But  he  was  secretly  chafing  at  everything, — 
he  was  angry  that  Sylvie  had  escaped  him, — and  angrier 
still  that  Donna  Sovrani  should  imply  by  her  manner, 
if  not  by  her  words,  that  she  considered  him  an  excep- 
tional villain,  when  he  himself  was  aware  that  nearly 
all  the  men  of  his  "  Cercle  "  resembled  him. 

"  Pon-Pon  is  Signer  Varillo's  model,"  he  said  curtly, 
"  I  thought  you  were  aware  of  it.  She  appears  in  near1} 
all  his  pictures." 

Angela  breathed  again. 

"  Oh,  is  that  all !  "  she  murmured,  and  laughed. 

Fontenelle  opened  his  eyes  a  little,  amazed  at  her  in- 
difference. What  a  confiding,  unsuspecting  creature  was 


The  Master-Christian.  165 

this  "  woman  of  genius  "  !  This  time,  however,  he  was 
discreet,  and  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself. 

"  That  is  all,"  he  said,  "  But  .  .  .  artists  have  been 
known  to  admire  their  models  in  more  ways  than  one." 

"  Yes,"  said  Angela  tranquilly,  "  But  Florian  is  en- 
tirely different  to  most  men." 

1  he  Marquis  was  moved  to  smile,  but  did  not.  He 
merely  bowed  with  a  deep  and  reverential  courtesy. 

"  You  have  reason  to  know  him  best,"  he  said,  "  and 
no  doubt  he  deserves  your  entire  confidence.  For  me — 
I  willingly  confess  myself  a  vaurien — but  I  assure  you 
I  am  not  as  bad  as  I  seem.  Your  friend  Sylvie  is  safe 
from  me." 

Angela's  eyes  lightened, — her  mind  was  greatly  re- 
lieved. 

"  You  will  leave  her  to  herself "  she  began. 

"  Certainly  I  will  leave  her  to  herself.  She  will  not 
like  it,  but  I  will  do  it !  She  is  going  away  to-morrow, — 
I  found  that  out  from  her  maid.  Why  will  you  beautiful 
ladies  keep  maids?  They  are  always  ready  to  tell  a  man 
everything  for  twenty  or  forty  francs.  So  simple ! — so 
cheap  ! — Sylvie's  maid  is  my  devoted  adherent, — and 
why? — not  only  on  account  of  the  francs,  but  because  I 
have  been  careful  to  secure  her  sweetheart  as  my  valet, 
and  he  depends  upon  me  to  set  him  up  in  business.  So 
you  see  how  easy  it  is  for  me  to  be  kept  aware  of  all  my 
fair  lady's  movements.  This  is  how  I  learned  that  she 

is  going  away  to-morrow and  this  is  why  I  came 

here  to-day.  She  has  given  me  the  slip she  has 

avoided  me  and  now  I  will  avoid  her.  We  shall  see  the 
result.  I  think  it  will  end  in  a  victory  for  me." 

"Never !  "  said  Angela,  "  You  will  never  win  Sylvie 
to  your  way  of  thinking,  but  it  is  quite  possible  she  may 
win  you !  " 

'  That  would  be  strange  indeed,"  said  the  Marquis 
lightly,  "  The  world  is  full  of  wonders,  but  that  would 
be  the  most  wonderful  thing  that  ever  happened  in  it! 
Commend  me  to  the  fair  Comtesse,  Mademoiselle,  and 
tell  her  it  is  /  who  am  about  to  leave  Paris." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Angela  impulsively. 

"Ah,  feminine  curiosity!"  said  the  Marquis  laugh- 
ing, "  How  it  leaps  out  like  a  lightning  flash,  even 
through  the  most  rigid  virtue!  Chere  Mademoiselle, 


1 66  The  Master-Christian. 

where  I  am  going  is  my  own  secret,  and  not  even  your 
appealing  looks  will  drag  it  out  of  me!  But  I  am  in  no 
hurry  to  go  away ;  I  shall  not  fly  off  by  the  midnight 
train,  or  the  very  early  one  in  the  morning,  as  your  ro- 
mantic friend  the  Comtesse  Sylvie  will  probably  do, — 1 
have  promised  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  to  hear  him  preach 
on  Sunday.  I  shall  listen  to  a  farewell  sermon  and  try 
to  benefit  by  it, — after  that  I  take  a  long  adieu  of  France ; 

be  good  enough  to  say  to  the  Countesse  with  my 

humblest  salutations !  " 

He  bowed  low  over  Angela's  hand,  and  with  a  few 
more  light  parting  words  took  his  graceful  presence  out 
of  the  room,  and  went  down  the  stairs  humming  a  tune 
as  he  departed. 

After  he  had  gone  Angela  sat  for  some  minutes  in  si- 
lence thinking.  Then  she  went  to  her  desk  and  wrote  a 
brief  note  to  the  Comtesse  as  follows: — 

"  DEAR  SYLVIE  :  Dismiss  your  maid.  She  is  in  the  em- 
ploy of  Fontenelle  and  details  to  him  all  your  move- 
ments. He  has  been  here  for  half  an  hour  and  tells  me 
that  he  takes  a  long  adieu  of  France  after  Sunday,  and 
he  has  promised  me  to  leave  you  to  yourself.  I  am  sure 
you  are  glad  of  this.  My  uncle  and  I  go  to  Rome  next 
week. 

"  ANGELA." 

She  sealed  and  marked  the  envelope  "  private  ",  and 
ringing  the  bell  for  her  man-servant  requested  him  to  de- 
liver it  himself  into  the  hands  of  the  Comtesse  Hermen- 
stein.  This  matter  dismissed  from  her  mind  she  went  to 
a  portfolio  full  of  sketches,  and  turned  them  over  and 
over  till  she  came  to  one  dainty,  small  picture  entitled, 
"  Phillida  et  les  Roses  ".  It  was  a  study  of  a  woman's 
nude  figure  set  among  branching  roses,  and  was  signed 
"  Florian  Varillo  ".  Angela  looked  at  it  long  and  ear- 
nestly,— all  the  delicate  flesh  tints  contrasting  with  the 
exquisite  hues  of  red  and  white  roses  were  delineated 
with  wonderful  delicacy  and  precision  of  touch,  and 
there  was  a  nymph-like  grace  and  modesty  about  the 
woman's  form  and  the  drooping  poise  of  her  head,  which 
was  effective  yet  subtle  in  suggestion.  Was  it  a  por- 
trait of  Pon-Pon?  Angry  with  herself  Angela  tried  to 


The  Master-Christian.  167 

put  the  hateful  but  insinuating  thought  away  from  her, 
— it  was  the  first  slight  shadow  on  the  fairness  of  her 
love-dream, — and  it  was  like  one  of  those  sudden  clouds 
crossing  a  bright  sky  which  throws  a  chill  and  depres- 
sion over  the  erstwhile  smiling  landscape.  To  doubt 
Florian  seemed  like  doubting  her  own  existence.  She 
put  the  "  Phillida "  picture  back  in  the  portfolio  and 
paced  slowly  to  and  fro  in  her  studio,  considering  deeply. 
Love  and  Fame — Fame  and  Love!  She  had  both, — and 
yet  Aubrey  Leigh  had  said  such  fortune  seldom  fell  to 
the  lot  of  a  woman  as  to  possess  ttre-fcwo  things  together. 
Might  it  not  be  her  destiny  to  lose  one  of  them?  If  so, 
which  would  she  prefer  to  keep?  Her  whole  heart,  her 
whole  impulses  cried  out,  "  Love  "  !  Her  intellect  and 
her  ambitious  inward  soul  said,  "  Fame  "  !  And  some- 
thing higher  and  greater  than  either  heart,  intellect,  or 
soul  whispered  to  her  inmost  self,  "  Work ! — God  bids 
you  do  what  is  in  you  as  completely  as  you  can  without 
asking  for  a  reward  of  either  Love  or  Fame."  "  But," 
she  argued  with  herself,  "  for  a  woman  Love  is  so  nec- 
essary to  the  completion  of  life."  And  the  inward  mon- 
itor replied,  "  What  kind  of  Love  ?  Ephemeral  or  im- 
mortal? Art  is  sexless; — good  work  is  eternal,  no  mat- 
ter whether  it  is  man  or  woman  who  has  accomplished 
it."  And  then  a  great  sigh  broke  from  Angela's  lips  as 
she  thought,  "  Ah,  but  the  world  will  never  own  woman's 
work  to  be  great  even  if  it  be  so,  because  men  give  the 
verdict,  and  man's  praise  is  for  himself  and  his  own 
achievements  always."  "  Man's  praise,"  went  on  the  in- 
terior voice,  "And  what  of  God's  final  justice?  Have 
you  not  patience  to  wait  for  that,  and  faith  to  work  for 
it  ?  "  Again  Angela  sighed ;  then  happening  to  look  up 
in  the  direction  of  the  music-gallery  which  occupied  one 
end  of  her  studio  \vhere  the  organ  was  fitted,  she  saw  a 
fair  young  face  peering  down  at  her  over  the  carved  oak 
railing,  and  recognised  Manuel.  She  smiled ; — her  two 
or  three  days'  knowledge  of  him  had  been  more  than  suf- 
ficient to  win  her  affection  and  interest. 

"  So  you  are  up  there !  "  she  said,  "  Is  my  uncle  sleep- 


ing 


No,"  replied  Manuel,  "  he  is  writing  many  letters  to 
Rome.    Will  you  come  and  play  to  me  ?  " 

"  Willingly !  "  and  Angela  went  lightly  up  the  winding 


168  The  Master-Christian. 

steps  of  the  gallery,  "  But  you  have  been  out  all  day, — 
are  you  not  tired  ?  " 

"  No,  not  now.  I  was  weary, — very  weary  of  seeing 
and  hearing  so  many  false  things  .  .  .  " 

"  False  things  ?  "  echoed  Angela  thoughtfully,  as  she 
•seated  herself  at  the  organ,  "  What  were  they  ?  " 

"  Churches  principally,"  said  Manuel  quietly ;  "  How 
sad  it  is  that  people  should  come  into  those  grand  build- 
ings looking  for  Christ  and  never  rinding  Him !  " 

"  But  they  are  all  built  for  the  worship  of  Christ," 
said  Angela,  pressing  her  small  white  fingers  on  the  or- 
gan keys,  and  drawing  out  one  or  two  deep  and  solemn 
sounds  by  way  of  prelude,  "  Why  should  you  think  He  is 
not  in  them  ?  " 

"  He  cannot  be,"  answered  Manuel,  "  They  are  all  un- 
like Him !  Remember  how  poor  he  was ! — He  told  His 
followers  to  despise  all  riches  and  worldly  praise! — and 
now  see  how  the  very  preachers  try  to  obtain  notice  and 
reward  for  declaring  His  simple  word!  The  churches 
seem  quite  empty  of  Him, — and  how  empty  too  must  be 
the  hearts  and  souls  of  all  the  poor  people  who  go  to 
such  places  to  be  comforted !  " 

Angela  did  not  reply, — her  hands  had  unconsciously 
wandered  into  the  mazes  of  a  rich  Beethoven  voluntary, 
and  the  notes,  firm,  grand,  and  harmonious,  rolled  out  in 
the  silence  with  a  warm  deep  tenderness  that  thrilled  the 
air  as  with  a  rhythmic  beat  of  angels'  wings.  Lost  in 
thought,  she  scarcely  knew  what  she  played,  nor  how  she 
was  playing, — but  she  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  and 
singular  exaltation  of  spirit, — a  rush  of  inward  energy 
that  was  almost  protest, — a  force  which  refused  to  be 
checked,  and  which  seemed  to  fill  her  to  the  very  finger 
tips  with  ardours  not  her  own, — martyrs  going  to  the 
destroying  flames  might  have  felt  as  she  felt  then.  There 
was  a  grave  sense  of  impending  sorrow  hanging  over 
her,  mingled  with  a  strong  and  prayerful  resolve  to  over- 
come whatever  threatened  her  soul's  peace, — and  she 
played  on  and  on,  listening  to  the  rushing  waves  of  sound 
which  she  herself  evoked,  and  almost  losing  herself  in 
a  trance  of  thought  and  vision.  And  in  this  dreamy, 
supersensitive  condition,  she  imagined  that  even  Man- 
uel's face  fair  and  innocent  as  it  was,  grew  still  more 
beautiful, — a  light,  not  of  the  sun's  making,  seemed  to 


ihe  Master-Christian.  169 

dwell  like  an  aureole  in  his  clustering  hair  and  in 
his  earnest  eyes, — and  a  smile  sweeter  than  any  she  had 
ever  seen,  seemed  to  tremble  on  his  lips  as  she  looked 
at  him. 

"  You  are  thinking  beautiful  things,"  he  said  gentlyx 
"  And  they  are  all  in  the  music.  Shall  I  tell  you  about 
them  ?  " 

She  nodded  assent,  while  her  fingers,  softly  pressing 
out  the  last  chord  of  Beethoven's  music,  wandered  of 
their  own  will  into  the  melancholy  pathos  of  a  Schubert 
"  Reverie." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  wonderful  plan  of  the 
world,"  he  said, — "  Of  all  the  fair  and  glorious  things 
God  has  made  for  those  who  love  Him!  Of  the  splen- 
dour of  Faith  and  Hope  and  Courage, — of  the  soul's  di- 
vine origin  and  responsibility, — and  all  the  joy  of  being 
able  to  say  to  the  Creator  of  the  whole  universe,  '  Our 
Father ! '  You  are  thinking — because  you  know — that 
not  a  note  of  the  music  you  are  playing  now  fails  to  reach 
the  eternal  spheres, — echoing  away  from  your  touch,  it 
goes  straight  to  its  mark, — sent  with  the  soul's  expres- 
sion of  love  and  gratitude,  it  flies  to  the  centre  of  the 
soul's  worship.  Not  a  pulsation  of  true  harmony  is  lost ! 
You  are  thinking  how  grand  it  is  to  live  a  sweet  and  un- 
sullied life,  full  of  prayer  and  endeavour,  keeping  a  spirit 
white  and  clean  as  the  light  itself,  a  spirit  dwelling  on  the 
verge  of  earth  but  always  ready  to  fly  heavenward! — 
You  are  thinking  that  no  earthly  reward,  no  earthly  love, 
no  earthly  happiness,  though  good  in  itself,  can  ever  give 
you  such  perfect  peace  and  joy  as  is  found  in  loving, 
serving,  and  obeying  God,  and  suffering  His  will  to  be 
entirely  worked  in  you !  " 

Angela  listened,  deeply  moved her  heart  throbbed 

quickly, — how  wonderfully  the  boy  expressed  himself ! 
—with  what  sweetness,  gentleness,  and  persuasion !  She 
would  have  ceased  playing,  but  that  something  impera- 
tive urged  her  to  go  on, — and  Manuel's  soft  voice  thrilled 
her  strangely  when  he  spoke  again,  saying — 

"  You  know  now — because  your  wise  men  are  be- 
ginning to  prove  it — that  you  can  in  very  truth  send  a. 
message  to  heaven." 

"  To  heaven !  "  murmured  Angela,  "  That  is  a  long 
way !  We  know  we  can  send  messages  in  a  flash  of  light 


ijo  The  Master-Christian. 

from  one  part  of  the  world  to  another — but  then  there 
must  be  people  to  receive  them — 

"  And  heaven  is  composed  of  millions  of  worlds,"  said 
Manuel,  "  '  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions !  " 
And  from  all  worlds  to  all  worlds — from  mansion  to 
mansion,  the  messages  flash!  And  there  are  those  who 
receive  them,  with  such  directness  as  can  admit  of  no 
error!  And  your  wise  men  might  have  known  this  long 
ago  if  they  had  believed  their  Master's  word,  '  Whatso- 
ever is  whispered  in  secret  shall  be  proclaimed  on  the 
housetops.'  But  you  will  all  find  out  soon  that  it  is  true, 
and  that  everything  you  say,  and  that  every  prayer  you 
utter  God  hears." 

"  My  mother  is  in  heaven,"  said  Angela  wistfully,  "  I 
wish  I  could  send  her  a  message !  " 

"  Your  very  wish  has  reached  her  now !  "  said  Manuel, 
"  How  is  it  possible  that  you  in  the  spirit  could  ardently 
wish  to  communicate  with  one  so  beloved  and  she  not 
know  it !  Love  would  be  no  use  then,  and  there  would 
be  a  grave  flaw  in  God's  perfect  creation." 

Angela  ceased  playing,  and  turned  round  to  face  the 
young  speaker. 

"  Then  you  think  we  never  lose  those  we  love  ?  And 
that  they  see  us  and  hear  us  always  ?  " 

"  They  must  do  so,"  said  Manuel,  "  otherwise  there 
would  be  cruelty  in  creating  the  grace  of  love  at  all.  But 
God  Himself  is  Love.  Those  who  love  truly  can  never 
be  parted, — death  has  no  power  over  their  souls.  If  one 
is  on  earth  and  one  in  heaven,  what  does  it  matter?  If 
they  were  in  separate  countries  of  the  world  they  could 
hear  news  of  each  other  from  time  to  time, — and  so  they 
can  when  apparent  death  has  divided  them." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Angela  with  quick  interest. 

"  Your  wise  men  must  tell  you,"  said  Manuel,  with  a 
grave  little  smile,  "  I  know  no  more  than  what  Christ  has 
said, — and  He  told  us  plainly  that  not  even  a  sparrow 
shall  fall  to  the  ground  without  our  Father.  '  Fear  not/ 
He  said,  '  Ye  are  more  than  many  sparrows.'  So,  as 
there  is  nothing  which  is  useless,  and  nothing  which  is 
wasted,  it  is  very  certain  that  love,  which  is  the  greatest 
of  all  things,  cannot  lose  what  it  loves." 

Angela's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  she  knew  not  why, 
"  Love  which  is  the  greatest  of  all  things  cannot  lose 


The  Master-Christian.  171 

what  it  loves !  " — How  wonderfully  tender  was  Manuel's 
voice  as  he  spoke  these  words ! 

"  You  have  very  sweet  thoughts,  Manuel,"  she  said, 
"  You  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  anyone  in  sorrow." 

"  That  is  what  I  have  always  wished  to  be,"  he  an- 
swered, "  But  you  are  not  in  sorrow  yet, — that  is  to 
come !  " 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"You  think  I  shall  have  some  great  trouble?"  she 
asked,  \vith  a  little  tremour  in  her  accents. 

"  Yes,  most  surely  you  will !  "  replied  Manuel,  "  No 
one  in  the  world  ever  tried  to  be  good  and  great  at  the 
same  time  without  suffering  miscomprehension  and  bitter 
pain.  Did  not  Christ  say,  '  In  the  world  ye  shall  have 
tribulation  '  ?  " 

"  Yes, — and  I  have  often  wondered  why,"  said  An- 
gela musingly. 

"  Only  that  you  might  learn  to  love  God  best,"  an- 
swered Manuel  with  a  delicate  inflexion  of  compassion 
in  his  voice,  "  And  that  you  might  know  for  certain  and 
beyond  all  doubt  that  this  life  is  not  all.  There  is  some- 
thing better — greater — higher ! — a  glory  that  is  worth 
winning  because  immortal.  '  In  the  world  ye  shall  have 
tribulation  ' — yes,  that  is  true !  — but  the  rest  of  the  say- 
ing is  true  also — '  Be  of  good  cheer, — I  have  overcome 
the  world  ' !  " 

Moved  by  an  impulse  she  could  not  understand,  An- 
gela suddenly  turned  and  extended  her  hands  with  an  in- 
stinctive grace  that  implied  reverence  as  well  as  humility. 
The  boy  clasped  them  lightly  then  let  them  go, — and 
without  more  words  went  softly  away  and  left  her. 


XIII. 

THE  Church  of  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  in  Paris  with 
its  yellow  stucco  columns,  and  its  hideous  excess  of  paint 
and  gilding,  might  be  a  ball-room  designed  after  the 
newest  ideas  of  a  vulgar  noiiveau  riche  rather  than  a  place 
of  sanctity.  Th'e  florid-minded  Blondel,  pupil  of  the 
equally  florid-minded  Regnault,  hastily  sketched  in  some 
of  the  theatrical  frescoes  in  the  "  Chapel  of  the  Euchar- 
ist," and  a  misguided  personage  named  Orsel,  splashed 
out  the  gaudy  decorations  of  the  "  Chapel  of  the  Virgin." 
The  whole  edifice  glares  at  the  spectator  like  a  badly- 
managed  limelight,  and  the  tricky,  glittering,  tawdry 
effect  blisters  one's  very  soul.  But  here  may  be  seen 
many  little  select  groups  out  of  the  hell  of  Paris, — fresh 
from  the  burning  as  it  were,  and  smelling  of  the  brim- 
stone,— demons  who  enjoy  their  demonism, — satyrs,  con- 
cerning whom,  one  feels  that  their  polished  boots  are 
cleverly  designed  to  cover  their  animal  hoofs,  and  that 
skilful  clothiers  have  arranged  their  garments  so  that 
their  tails  are  not  perceived.  But  that  hoofs  and  tails 
are  existent  would  seem  to  be  a  certainty.  Here  some- 
times will  sing  a  celebrated  tenor,  bulky  and  brazen, — 
pouring  out  from  his  bull-throat  such  liquid  devotional 
notes  as  might  lift  the  mind  of  the  listener  to  Heaven  if 
one  were  not  so  positive  that  a  moral  fiend  sang  them ; 
— here  sometimes  may  be  seen  the  stout  chant  ens  c  who 
is  the  glory  of  open-air  cafes  in  the  Champs  Elysees, 
kneeling  with  difficulty  on  a  velvet  hassock  and  actually 
saying  prayers.  And  one  must  own  that  it  is  an  exhilar- 
ating and  moving  sight  to  behold  such  a  woman  pretend- 
ing to  confess  her  sins,  with  the  full  delight  of  them 
written  on  her  face,  and  the  avowed  intention  of  com- 
mitting them  all  over  again  manifesting  itself  in  every 
turn  of  her  head,  every  grin  of  her  rouged  lips,  and  every 
flash  of  her  painted  eyes !  For  these  sections  out  of  the 
French  "  Inferno,"  Nctre  Dame  de  Lorette  is  a  good  place 

172 


The  Master-Christian.  173 

to  play  penitence  and  feign  prayer; — the  Madeleine  is 
too  classic  and  serene  and  sombre  in  its  interior  to  sug- 
gest anything  but  a  museum,  from  which  the  proper  cus- 
todian is  absent, — Notre  Dame  de  Paris  reeks  too  much 
with  the  blood  of  slain  Archbishops  to  be  altogether 
comfortable, — St.  Roch  in  its  "  fashionable  "  congrega- 
tion, numbers  too  many  little  girls  who  innocently  go  to 
hear  the  music,  and  who  have  not  yet  begun  to  paint  their 
faces,  to  suit  those  whose  lives  are  all  paint  and  mas- 
querade,— and  the  "  Lorette  "  is  just  the  happy  medium 
of  a  church  where,  Sham  being  written  on  its  walls,  one 
is  scarcely  surprised  to  see  Sham  in  the  general  aspect  of 
its  worshippers.  Among  the  ugly  columns,  and  against 
the  heavy  ceiling  divided  into  huge  raised  lumps  of  paint 
and  gilding,  Abbe  Vergniaud's  voice  had  often  re- 
sounded,— and  his  sermons  were  looked  forward  to  as  a 
kind  of  witty  entertainment.  In  the  middle  or  the  after- 
wards of  a  noisy  Mass, — Mass  which  had  been  "  per- 
formed "  with  perhaps  the  bulky  tenor  giving  the  "  Ag- 
nus Dei,"  with  as  sensually  dramatic  an  utterance  as ' 
though  it  were  a  love-song  in  an  opera,  and  the  "  basso," 
shouting  through  the  "  Credo,"  with  the  deep  musical 
fury  of  the  tenor's  jealous  rival, — with  a  violin  "  inter- 
lude," and  a  'cello  "  solo," — and  a  blare  of  trumpets  at 
the  "  Elevation,"  as  if  it  were  a  cheap  spectacle  at  a  cir- 
cus fair, — after  all  this  melodramatic  and  hysterical  ex- 
citement it  was  a  relief  to  see  the  Abbe  mount  the  pul- 
pit stairs,  portly  but  lightfooted,  his  black  clerical  sur- 
tout  buttoned  closely  up  to  his  chin,  his  round  clean- 
shaven face  wearing  a  pious  but  suggestive  smile,  his 
eyes  twinkling  with  latent  satire,  and  his  whole  aspect 
expressing,  "  Welcome  excellent  humbugs !  I,  a  hum- 
bug myself,  will  proceed  to  expound  Humbug !  "  His 
sermons  were  generally  satires  on  religion, — satires  deli- 
cately veiled,  and  full  of  the  double-entendres  so  dear  to 
the  hearts  of  Parisians, — and  their  delight  in  him  arose 
chiefly  from  never  quite  knowing  what  he  meant  to  im- 
ply, or  to  enforce.  Not  that  his  hearers  would  have  fol- 
lowed any  counsel  even  if  he  had  been  so  misguided  as  to 
offer  it ;  they  did  not  come  to  hear  him  "  preach  "  in  the 
full  sense  of  the  word, — they  came  to  hear  him  "  say 
things," — witty  observations  on  the  particular  fad  of  the 
hour — sharp  polemics  on  the  political  situation — or  what 


174  The  Master-Christian. 

was  still  more  charming,  neat  remarks  in  the  style  of 
Rochefoucauld  or  Montaigne,  which  covered  and  found 
excuses  for  vice  while  seemingly  condemning  viciousness. 
There  is  nothing  perhaps  so  satisfactory  to  persons  who 
pride  themselves  on  their  intellectuality,  as  a  certain  kind 
of  spurious  philosophy  which  balances  virtue  and  vice 
as  it  were  on  the  point  of  a  finger,  and  argues  prettily  on 
the  way  the  two  can  be  easily  merged  into  each  other, 
almost  without  perception.  "  If  without  perception,  then 
without  sin,"  says  the  sophist;  "it  is  merely  a  question 
of  balance."  Certainly  if  generosity  drifts  into  ex- 
travagance you  have  a  virtue  turned  into  a  vice; — but 
there  is  one  thing  these  spurious  debaters  cannot  do,  and 
that  is  to  turn  a  vice  into  a  virtue.  That  cannot  be  done, 
and  has  never  been  done.  A  vice  is  a  vice,  and  its  inher- 
ent quality  is  to  "  wax  fat  and  gross,"  and  to  generally  en- 
large itself ; — whereas,  a  virtue  being  a  part  of  the  Spirit- 
ual quality  and  acquired  with  difficulty,  it  must  be  con- 
tinually practised,  and  guarded  in  the  practice,  lest  it 
•lapse  into  vice.  We  are  always  forgetting  that  we  have 
been,  and  still  are  in  a  state  of  Evolution, — out  of  the 
Beast  God  has  made  Man, — but  now  He  expects  us,  with 
all  the  wisdom,  learning  and  experience  He  has  given  us, 
to  evolve  for  ourselves  from  Man  the  Angel, — the  su- 
preme height  of  His  divine  intention.  Weak  as  yet 
on  our  spiritual  wings,  we  hark  back  to  the  Beast  period 
only  too  willingly,  and  sometimes  not  all  the  persuasion 
in  the  world  can  lift  us  out  of  the  mire  wherein  we  elect 
to  wallow.  Nevertheless,  there  must  be  and  will  be  a 
serious  day  of  reckoning  for  any  professing  priest  of  the 
Church,  or  so-called  "  servant  of  the  Gospel  ",  who  by  the 
least  word  or  covert  innuendo,  gives  us  a  push  back  into 
prehistoric  slime  and  loathliness, — and  that  there  are  num- 
bers who  do  so,  no  one  can  deny.  Abbe  Vergniaud  had 
flung  many  a  pebble  of  sarcasm  at  the  half-sinking  faith 
of  some  of  his  hearers  with  the  result  that  he  had  sunk 
it  altogether.  In  his  way  he  had  done  as  much  harm  as 
the  intolerant  bigot,  who  when  he  finds  persons  believing 
devoutly  in  Christ,  but  refusing  to  accept  Church- 
authority,  considers  such  persons  atheists  and  does  not 
hesitate  to  call  them  so.  The  "  Pharisees  "  in  Christian 
doctrine  are  as  haughty,  hypocritical  and  narrow  as  the 
Pharisees  whom  Jesus  calls  "  ravening  wolves,"  and  to 


The  Master-Christian.  175 

whom  He  said,  "  Ye  shut  up  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
against  men ;  for  ye  neither  go  in  yourselves,  neither  suffer 
ye  them  that  are  entering  to  go  in,"  and  "  Even  so  ye  also 
outwardly  appear  righteous  unto  men,  but  within  ye  are 
full  of  hypocrisy  and  iniquity."  The  last  words,  it  may 
be  said,  will  apply  fittingly  to  more  than  one-half  of  the 
preachers  of  the  Gospel  at  the  present  day ! 

It  was  a  brilliant,  soft  autumnal  Sunday  morning  when 
Cardinal  Bonpre,  mindful  of  Abbe  Vergniaud's  request 
that  he  should  be  present  to  hear  him  preach,  took  his  slow 
and  thoughtful  way  to  the  church  of  the  Lorette,  accom- 
panied by  his  niece  Angela  and  Manuel.  The  building 
was  crammed,  and  had  not  the  Abbe  been  previously 
careful  to  reserve  seats,  and  to  mention  the  Cardinal's 
name  to  the  custodian,  he  would  have  scarcely  obtained 
admission.  As  it  was,  however,  he  passed  slowly  up  the 
centre  aisle  without  hindrance,  followed  by  Manuel  and 
Angela,  and  watched  by  a  good  many  inquisitive  persons, 
who  wondered  as  they  looked,  who  the  boy  was  that 
walked  after  His  Eminence  with  such  easy  self-posses- 
sion,— with  such  a  noble  and  modest  bearing,  and  with 
such  a  strangely  thoughtful  face.  A  few  whispered  and 
nudged  each  other  as  "  the  Sovrani "  passed  them, 
dressed  in  her  usual  quiet  black,  her  head  slightly  bent 
and  her  eyes  downcast.  The  Marquis  Fontenelle, 
seated  in  an  attitude  which  suggested  a  languid  indiffer- 
ence to  all  persons  and  events,  lifted  his  bright  hazel 
eyes  as  she  passed, — and  a  sudden  wave  of  consciousness 
swept  over  him, — uneasy  consciousness  that  perhaps  this 
small  slight  woman  despised  him.  This  was  not  quite  a 
pleasant  reflection  for  a  man  and  a  Marquis  to  boot, — 
one  who  could  boast  of  an  ancient  and  honourable  fam- 
ily pedigree  dating  back  to  the  fighting  days  of  Cceur-de- 
Lion  and  whose  coat-of-arms  was  distinguished  by  three 
white  lilies  of  France  on  one  of  its  quarterings.  The 
lilies  of  France ! — emblems  of  honour,  loyalty,  truth,  and 
chivalry ! — what  smudged  and  trampled  blossoms  they 
seem  to  day !  He  frowned  as  this  fancy  crossed  his 
mind,  and  turned  his  eyes  away  from  the  following  of 
Angela's  slight  form  up  the  aisle ;  and  his  glance  fell  in- 
stead on  a  face  he  detested,  because  it  was  almost  the 
counterpart  of  his  own, — the  face  of  the  great  French 
actor  Miraudin.  The  same  clean-shaven  classic  face  and 


176 


The  Master-Christian. 


clustering  hair, — the  same  glittering,  amorous  hazel  eyes, 
— the  same  charming  and  kindly  smile, — all  these  attri- 
butes were  in  Miraudin's  face,  indefinably  coarsened, 
while  in  Fontenelle's  they  remained  refined  and  in- 
dicative of  the  highest  breeding.  The  Marquis  moved 
uneasily  in  his  seat, — he  saw  himself  in  the  fa- 
mous actor, — himself  as  he  would  be,  if  he  con- 
tinued his  career  of  self-indulgence, — for  Miraudin 
though  gifted  with  a  genius  that  could  move  all  Paris 
to  the  wildest  excesses  of  admiration,  was  in  private  life 
known  as  a  man  of  detestable  reputation,  whose 
liaisons  with  women  were  endless,  but  who,  in  his  ex- 
treme egotism  and  callousness  had  never  been  known 
to  yield  to  the  saving  grace  of  a  "  grand e  passion," — 
one  of  those  faithful  passions  which  sometimes  make 
the  greatness  of  both  man  and  woman  concerned,  and 
adorn  the  pages  of  dull  history  with  the  brilliancy  of 
deathless  romance.  Was  he,  Guy  Beausire  de  Fonte- 
nelle  no  better,  no  nobler,  no  higher,  in  his  desires  and 
ambitions  than  Miraudin?  What  was  he  doing  with  the 
three  lilies  emblazoned  on  his  escutcheon?  He  thought 
with  a  certain  fretful  impatience  of  Sylvie,  of  her  cap- 
tivating grace,  her  tender  eyes,  her  sweet  laughter,  and 
sweeter  smile.  She  had  seemed  to  him  a  mere  slight 
creation  of  the  air  and  the  moonbeams, — something  dainty 
that  would  have  melted  at  a  touch,  and  dropped  into  his 
mouth,  as  it  were,  like  a  French  bon-bon.  So  he,  man- 
like, had  judged,  and  now  lo ! — the  little  ethereal  creature 
had  suddenly  displayed  a  soul  of  adamant — hard  and 
pure,  and  glittering  as  a  diamond, — which  no  persuasion 
could  break  or  bend.  She  had  actually  kept  her  word ! — 
she  had  most  certainly  left  Paris.  The  Marquis  knew 
that,  by  the  lamentable  story  of  her  dismissed  maid  who 
had  come  to  him  with  hysterical  tears,  declaring  that 
"  Madame  "  had  suddenly  developed  a  "  humeur  incroy- 
able  " — and  had  gone  away  alone, — alone,  save  for  a  little 
dusky-skinned  Arab  boy  whom  she  had  once  brought 
away  from  Biskra  and  had  trained  as  an  attendant, — her 
"  gouvernante  "  and  companion,  Madame  Bozier,  and  her 
old  butler  who  had  known  her  from  childhood.  Fonte- 
nelle  felt  that  the  dismissal  of  the  maid  who  had  been 
such  a  convenient  spy  for  him,  was  due  to  Angela 
Sovrani's  interference,  and  though  angry,  he  was  con- 


The  Master-Christian.  177 

scious  of  feeling  at  the  same  time  mean  in  himself,  and 
miserable.  To  employ  a  servant  to  play  the  spy  on  her 
mistress,  and  report  to  him  her  actions  and  movements, 
might  be  worthy  of  a  Miraudin,  but  was  it  quite  the  thing 
for  a  Marquis  Fontenelle?  Thinking  over  these  things 
his  handsome  face  grew  flushed  and  anon  pale  again,  as 
from  time  to  time  he  stole  a  vexed  side  glance  at  the 
easy  Miraudin, — so  like  him  in  features  and — unfortu- 
nately so  equally  like  him  in  morals !  Meanwhile,  the 
music  of  the  Mass  surged  round  him,  in  thunders  of  the 
organ,  wailings  of  violins,  groaning  of  'cellos,  and  flut- 
ings  of  boys'  and  men's  voices, — and  as  the  cloudy  in- 
cense rose  upon  the  air  he  began  to  weave  strange  fan- 
cies in  his  mind,  and  to  see  in  the  beams  of  sunlight  fall- 
ing through  the  stained  glass  windows  a  vision  of  the 
bright  face  of  Sylvie  looking  down  upon  him  with  a  half- 
tender,  half-reproving  smile, — a  smile  that  seemed  to  say, 
"If  thou  lovest  me,  set  the  grace  of  honour  on  thy  love !  " 
These  were  strange  thoughts  for  him  to  entertain,  and  he 
was  almost  ashamed  of  them, — but  as  long  as  the  melo- 
dies of  the  Mass  kept  rolling  on  and  reverberating  around 
him  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  them ;  so  that  he  was 
relieved  when  a  pause  came, — the  interval  for  the  ser- 
mon,— and  Abbe  Vergniaud,  leisurely  mounting  the  steps 
of  the  pulpit,  stood  surveying  the  congregation  with  the 
composed  yet  quizzical  air  for  which  he  was  celebrated, 
and  waiting  till  the  rustling,  fidgeting,  coughing,  snuf- 
fing, toe-scraping  noises  of  the  congregation  had  set- 
tled down  into  comparative  silence.  His  attitude  during 
this  interval  was  suggestive.  It  implied  contempt, 
wearied  patience,  resignation,  and  a  curious  touch  of  de- 
fiance. Holding  himself  very  erect  he  rested  his  left 
hand  on  the  elaborate  sculptured  edge  of  the  pulpit, — it 
was  the  hand  on  which  he  usually  wore  his  ring,  a  dia- 
mond of  purest  lustre, — but  on  this  occasion  the  jewel 
had  been  removed  and  the  white,  firm  fingers,  outlined 
against  the  pulpit  edge,  looked  as  though  they  had  just 
relaxed  their  grasp  of  something  that  had  been  more  or 
less  of  a  trouble  to  retain.  Nothing  perhaps  is  so  ex- 
pressive as  a  hand, — the  face  can  disguise  itself, — even 
the  eyes  can  lie, — but  the  hand  never.  Its  shape,  its 
movements,  its  attitude  in  repose,  give  a  more  certain 
clue  to  character  and  disposition  than  almost  any  other 


i78 


The  Master-Christian. 


human  feature.  Thus,  with  the  Abbe,  while  his  left  hand 
suggested  a  "  letting  go,"  his  right  hand,  which  held  a 
small  black-bound  Testament  implied  defiance,  grip,  re- 
solve and  courage.  And  when  the  people  seated  imme- 
diately around  the  pulpit  lifted  their  eyes  expectantly  to 
the  popular  preacher's  face,  several  of  the  more  observant 
noticed  something  in  his  look  and  manner  which  was  un- 
familiar and  curiously  disconcerting.  If  it  be  true,  as 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe  it  is,  that  each  human  be- 
ing unconsciously  gives  out  an  "  aura  "  of  his  interior 
personality  which  is  made  more  or  less  powerful  to  at- 
tract or  repel  by  the  nature  of  his  intentions,  and  which 
affects  the  "  aura  "  of  those  with  whom  he  is  brought  in 
contact,  then  Abbe  Vergniaud  was  this  morning  creating 
all  unawares  to  himself  a  very  singular  impression  of 
uneasiness.  Some  of  the  persons  thus  uncomfortably 
influenced  coughed  violently  in  an  instinctive  attempt  to 
divert  or  frustrate  the  preacher's  mood,  but  even  the 
most  persistent  cougher  must  cease  coughing  at  some 
time  or  another — and  the  Abbe  was  evidently  deter- 
mined to  wait  for  an  absolute  silence  before  he  spoke. 
At  last  silence  came,  and  he  opened  the  Testament. 
Holding  it  up  to  the  view  of  the  congregation,  he  began 
with  all  that  easy  eloquence  which  the  French  tongue 
gives  to  a  cultured  speaker, — his  voice  full  and  sonorous, 
reaching  distinctly  to  every  part  of  the  crowded  church. 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  is  a  small  book  which  you  all  pre- 
tend to  know.  It  is  so  small  a  book  that  it  can  easily  be 
read  through  in  an  hour.  It  is  the  Testament ; — or  the 
Last  Will  and  Command  to  the  world  of  one  Jesus 
Christ,  who  was  crucified  on  account  of  His  Divinity 
more  than  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  I  mention  the 
fact,  in  case  any  of  you  have  forgotten  it!  It  is  gen- 
erally understood  that  this  book  is  the  message  of  God 
and  the  key  of  Faith ; — upon  it  our  churches  and  religious 
systems  are  founded ; — by  its  teaching  we  are  supposed 
to  order  our  conduct  of  life — and  yet, — though  as  I  have 
said,  it  is  a  very  small  book,  and  would  not  take  you  an 
hour  to  read  it — none  of  you  know  any  thing  about  it! 
That  is  a  strange  thing,  is  it  not  ?  " 

Here  he  leaned  over  the  pulpit  edge,  and  his  bright 
eyes,  coldly  satiric,  flashed  a  comprehensive  glance  over 
the  whole  congregation. 


The  Master-Christian.  179 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  strange  thing-,  but  I  affirm  it  true, — that 
none  of  you  know  anything  whatever  about  the  contents 
of  this  small  volume  which  is  the  foundation  of  the 
Christian  Faith !  You  never  read  it  yourselves, — and  if 
we  priests  read  it  to  you,  you  never  remember  it!  It  is 
a  locked  Mystery, — perhaps,  for  all  we  know,  the  great- 
est mystery  in  the  world, — and  the  one  most  worth  prob- 
ing! For  the  days  seem  to  be  coming,  if  they  have  not 
already  come,  which  were  prophesied  by  St.  John  the 
Divine,  whom  certain  '  clever '  men  of  the  time  have  set 
down  as  mad ; — days  which  were  described  as  '  shaking 
the  powers  of  heaven  and  creating  confusion  on  the 
earth.'  St.  John  said  some  strange  things ;  one  thing  in 
particular,  concerning  this  very  book,  which  reads  thus ; 
— '  I  saw  in  the  right  hand  of  Him  that  sat  upon  the 
throne  a  book  sealed  with  seven  seals.  And  I  saw  a 
strong  angel  proclaiming  with  a  loud  voice;  Who  is 
worthy  to  open  and  to  loose  the  seals  thereof?  And  no 
man  in  heaven  or  in  earth  was  able  to  open  the  book 
neither  to  look  thereon.  And  I  wept  much  because  no 
man  was  found  worthy  to  open  .and  to  read  the  book, 
neither  to  look  thereon.'  But  St.  John  the  Divine  was 
mad,  we  are  told, — madness  and  inspiration  being  judged 
as  one  and  the  same  thing.  Well,  if  in  these  statements 
he  is  supposed  to  prove  his  madness,  I  consider  a  doubt 
must  be  set  upon  everyone's  sanity.  For  his  words  are 
an  exact  description  of  the  present  period  of  the  world's 
existence  and  its  attitude  towards  the  Gospel  of  Christ, — 
'  No  man  is  found  worthy  to  loose  the  seals  of  the  book 
or  to  look  thereon/  But  I  am  not  going  to  talk  to  you 
about  the  seven  seals.  They  adequately  represent  our 
favourite  '  seven  deadly  sins,'  which  have  kept  the  book 
closed  since  the  days  of  the  early  martyrs ; — and  are 
likely  to  keep  it  closed  still.  Nor  shall  I  speak  of  our 
umvorthiness  to  read  what  we  have  never  taken  the 
trouble  to  rightly  understand, — for  all  this  would  be 
waste  of  time.  It  is  part  of  our  social  sham  to  pre- 
tend we  know  the  Gospel, — and  it  is  a  still  greater  sham 
to  assume  that  we  have  ever  tried  in  the  smallest  degree 
to  follow  its  teaching.  What  we  know  of  these  teach- 
ings has  influenced  us  unconsciously,  but  the  sayings  in 
the  Gospel  of  Christ  are  in  very  truth  as  enveloped  in 
mystery  to  each  separate  individual  reader  as  the  oracles 


i8o  The  Master-Christian. 

of  the  ancient  Egyptians  were  to  the  outside  multitude. 
And  why?  Merely  because,  to  comprehend  the  teaching 
of  Jesus  we  should  have  to  think, — and  we  all  hate  think- 
ing. It  is  too  much  exertion, — and  exertion  itself  is  un- 
pleasant. A  quarter  of  an  hour's  hard  thinking  will  con- 
vince each  one  of  us  that  he  or  she  is  a  very  worthless 
and  ridiculous  person,  and  we  strongly  object  to  any 
process  which  will,  in  itself,  bring  us  to  that  conclusion. 
I  say  '  we '  object, — that  is,  I  and  you;  particularly  I.  I 
admit  at  once  that  to  appear  worthless  and  ridiculous  to 
the  world  has  always  seemed  to  me  a  distressing  po- 
sition, and  one  to  be  avoided.  Worthless  and  ridiculous 
in  my  own  eyes  I  have  always  been, — but  that  is  not  your 
affair.  It  is  strictly  mine!  And  though  I  feel  I  am  not 
worthy  '  to  loose  the  seals  of  the  book  or  look  thereon,' 
there  is  one  passage  in  it  which  strikes  me  as  particularly 
applicable  to  the  present  day,  and  from  it  I  will  en- 
deavour to  draw  a  lesson  for  your  instruction,  though 
perhaps  not  for  your  entertainment." 

Here  he  paused  and  glanced  at  his  hearers  with  an  in- 
definable expression  of  mingled  scorn  and  humour. 

"  What  an  absurdity  it  is  to  talk  of  giving  a  '  lesson  ' 
to  you ! — you  who  will  barely  listen  to  a  friend's  advice, 
— you  who  will  never  take  a  hint  for  your  mental  educa- 
tion or  improvement,  you  who  are  apt  to  fly  into  a  pas- 
sion, or  take  to  the  sulks  when  you  are  ever  so  slightly 
contradicted.  Tiens,  tiens!  c'est  drolc!  Now  the 
words  I  am  about  to  preach  from,  are  supposed  to  have 
been  uttered  by  Divine  lips:  and  if  you  thoroughly  be- 
lieved this,  you  would  of  your  own  accord  kneel  down  and 
pray  that  you  might  receive  them  with  full  comprehen- 
sion and  ready  obedience.  But  you  do  not  believe ; — 
so  I  will  not  ask  you  to  kneel  down  in  mockery,  or  feign 
to  pray  when  you  are  ignorant  of  the  very  spirit  of  prayer ! 
So  take  the  words, — without  preparation,  without 
thought,  without  gratitude,  as  you  take  everything  God 
gives  you,  and  see  what  you  can  make  of  them.  '  The 
light  of  the  body  is  the  eye, — if  therefore  thine  eye  be 
single,  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of  light.  But  if 
thine  eye  be  evil,  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of  dark- 
ness. If  therefore  the  lieht  that  is  in  thee  be  dark- 
ness, how  great  is  that  darkness ! ' : 

Here  he  closed  the  Testament,  and  rested  it  edgewise 


The  Master-Christian.  181 

on  the  pulpit  cushion,  keeping  one  hand  firmly  clasped 
upon  it  as  he  turned  himself  about  and  surveyed  the 
whole  congregation. 

"  \Yhat  is  the  exact  meaning  of  the  words,  '  //  thine  eye 
be  single  '?  It  is  an  expressive  term ;  and  in  its  curt  sim- 
plicity covers  a  profound  truth.  '  If  thine  eye/  namely, 
— the  ability  to  see, — '  be  single,'  that  is  straight  and 
clear,  without  dimness  or  obliquity, — '  thy  whole  body 
shall  be  full  of  light.'  Christ  evidently  did  not  apply 
this  expression  to  the  merely  physical  capability  of 
sight, — but  to  the  moral  and  mental,  or  psychic  vision. 
It  matters  nothing  really  to  the  infinite  forces  around  us, 
whether  physically  speaking,  we  are  able  to  see,  or 
whether  we  are  born  blind ;  but  spiritually,  it  is  the  chief 
necessity  of  our  lives  that  we  should  be  able  to  see 
straight  morally.  Yet  that  is  what  we  can  seldom  or 
never  do.  Modern  education,  particularly  education  in 
France,  provides  us  at  once  with  a  double  psychic  lens, 
and  a  side-squint  into  the  bargain !  Seeing  straight 
would  be  too  primitive  and  simple  for  us.  But  Christ 
says,  '  If  thine  eye  be  evil,  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of 
darkness.'  Now  this  word  '  evil,'  as  set  in  juxtaposition 
to  the  former  term  '  single,'  evidently  implies  a  double 
sight  or  perverted  vision.  With  this  '  evil,'  or  double 
sight,  our  whole  body  '  shall  be  full  of  darkness.'  Very 
well,  my  friends,  if  this  be  true, — (and  you  surely  must 
believe  it  true,  otherwise  you  would  not  support  churches 
for  the  exposition  of  the  truth  as  spoken  by  the  Founder 
of  our  Faith ; — )  then  we  are  children  of  the  dark  indeed ! 
I  doubt  if  one  amongst  us, — for  I  include  myself  with 
you, — can  .be  said  to  see  clearly  with  a  straight  psychic 
vision.  The  straight  psychi*  vision  teaches  us  that  God 
is  the  Creator  of  all  things, — God  is  Light  and  Love, — 
God  desires  good  from  us,  and  from  every  particle  of  his 
creation ; — but  the  double  or  perverted  line  of  sight  offers 
a  different  view  and  declares,  '  This  life  is  short  and  offers 
many  pleasures.  I  cannot  be  sure  of  God  because  I  have 
never  seen  Him; — the  Universe  is  certainly  very  ma- 
jestic, and  somewhat  startling  to  me  in  its  exact  mathe- 
matical proportions ;  but  I  have  no  more  to  do  with  it  than 
has  a  grain  of  sand; — my  lot  is  no  more  important  than 
that  of  the  midge  in  the  sunbeam ; — I  live, — I  breed — I 
die ; — and  it  matters  to  no  one  but  myself  how  I  do  these 


1 82  The  Master-Christian. 

three  things,  provided  I  satisfy  my  nature.'  This  is  the 
Philosophy  of  the  Beast,  and  it  is  just  now  very  fashion- 
able. It  is  '  la  haute  mode  '  both  in  France,  and  Eng- 
land, Italy,  and  Spain.  Only  young  America  seem  to 
be  struggling  for  a  Faith, — a  Christian  Faith ; — it  has  al- 
most, albeit  faintly  and  with  a  touching  indecision,  asked 
for  such  a  Faith  from  the  Pope, — who  has  however  de- 
clared it  to  be  impossible  in  these  words  addressed  to 
Cardinal  Gibbons,  '  Discussion  of  the  principles  of  the 
Church  cannot  be  tolerated  even  in  the  United  States. 
There  can  only  be  one  interpreter,  the  Pope.  In  the  mat- 
ter of  discipline,  concessions  may  be  allowed,  but  in  doc- 
trine none.'  Mark  the  words,  '  cannot  be  tolerated ' ! 
Consider  what  stability  a  Faith  can  have  whose  princi- 
ples may  not  be  discussed !  Yet  the  authority  of  the 
Church  is,  we  are  told  the  authority  of  God  Himself. 
How  is  this?  We  can  discuss  God  and  His  principles. 
He  'tolerates '  us  while  we  search  for  His  laws,  and  stand 
amazed  and  confounded  before  His  marvellous  creation. 
The  more  we  look  for  Him  the  more  He  gives  Himself 
gloriously  to  us ;  and  Christ  declares  '  Seek  and  ye  shall 
find,' — the  Church  says  '  Seek  and  ye  shall  not  be  toler- 
ated ' !  How  are  we  to  reconcile  these  two  assertions  ? 
We  do  not  reconcile  them ;  we  cannot ;  it  is  a  case  of 
double  sight, — oblique  and  perverted  psychic  vision. 
Christ  spoke  plainly; — the  Church  speaks  obscurely. 
Christ  gave  straight  commands, — we  fly  in  the  face  of 
them  and  openly  disobey  them.  Truth  can  always  be 
'  discussed,'  and  Truth  must  be  '  tolerated '  were  a  thou- 
sand Holy  Fathers  to  say  it  nay !  But  note  again  the 
further  words  to  America,  '  There  can  only  'be  one  in- 
terpreter,— the  Pope.  In  the  matter  of  discipline,  con- 
cessions may  be  allowed,  but  in  doctrine  none.'  Let  us 
examine  into  this  doctrine.  It  is  the  doctrine  of  Christ, 
plain  and  straightforward ;  enunciated  in  such  simple 
words  that  even  a  child  can  understand  them.  But  the 
Church  announces  with  a  strident  voice  that  there  can 
only  be  one  interpreter, — the  Pope.  Nevertheless  Truth 
has  a  more  resonant  voice  than  even  that  of  the  Church. 
Truth  cries  out  at  this  present  day,  '  Unless  you  will 
listen  to  Me  who  am  the  absolute  utterance  of  God,  who 
spake  by  the  prophets,  who  spake  through  Christ, — who 
speaks  through  Christ  and  all  things  still, — your  lit- 


The  Master-Christian.  183 

tie  systems,  your  uncertain  churches,  your  inefficient 
creeds,  your  quarrelsome  sects,  shall  crumble  away  into 
dust  and  ruins !  For  humanity  is  waiting  for  the  true 
Church  of  Christ ;  the  one  pure  House  of  Praise  from 
which  all  sophistry,  all  superstition  and  vanity  shall  have 
fled,  and  only  God  in  the  Christ-Miracle  and  the  perfec- 
tion of  His  Creation  shall  remain ! '  And  there  is  no 
more  sure  foundation  for  this  much-needed  House  of 
Praise  than  the  Catholic  Church, — the  word  '  catholic  ' 
being  applied  in  its  widest  sense,  meaning  a  '  Universal ' 
answering  to  the  needs  of  all ; — and  I  am  willing  to  main- 
tain that  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  has  within  it  the 
vital  germ  of  a  sprouting  perfection.  If  it  would  utterly 
discard  pomp  and  riches,  if  it  would  set  its  dignity  at  too 
high  an  estimate  for  any  wish  to  meddle  in  temporal  or 
political  affairs,  if  it  would  firmly  trample  down  all  su- 
perstition, idolatry  and  bigotry,  and  '  use  no  vain  repe- 
tition as  the  heathen  do ' — to  quote  Christ's  own  words, 
— if  in  place  of  ancient  dogma  and  incredible  legendary 
lore,  it  would  open  its  doors  to  the  marvels  of  science,  the 
miracles  and  magnificence  daily  displayed  to  us  in  the 
wonderful  work  of  God's  Universe,  then  indeed  it  might 
obtain  a  lasting  hold  on  mankind.  It  might  conquer 
Buddhism,  and  Christianize  the  whole  earth.  But — '  If 
thine  eye  be  evil  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of  dark- 
ness,'— and  while  the  Church  remains  double-sighted  we 
are  bound  also  to  see  double.  And  so  we  listen  with  a 
complete  and  cynical  atheism  to  the  conventional  state- 
ment that  '  one  man  alone '  shall  interpret  Christ's  teach- 
ing to  us  of  the  Roman  following, — and  this  man  an 
old  frail  teacher,  whose  bodily  and  intellectual  powers  are, 
in  the  course  of  nature,  steadily  on  the  decline.  Why  we 
ask,  must  an  aged  man  be  always  elected  to  decide  on  the 
teaching  of  the  ever-young  and  deathless  Christ? — to 
whom  the  burden  of  years  was  unknown,  and  wrhose  im- 
mortal spirit,  cased  for  a  while  in  clay,  saw  ever  the  rapt 
vision  of  '  old  things  being  made  new  '  ?  In  all  other 
work  but  this  of  religious  faith,  men  in  the  prime  of 
life  are  selected  to  lead, — men  of  energy,  thought,  action, 
and  endeavour, — but  for  the  sublime  and  difficult  task  of 
lifting  the  struggling  human  soul  out  of  low  things  to 
lofty,  an  old  man,  weak,  and  tottering  on  the  verge  of  the 
grave,  is  set  before  us  as  our  '  infallible '  teacher ! 


184  The  Master-Christian. 

There  is  something  appalling  in  the  fact,  that  look  where 
we  may,  no  profession  holds  out  much  chance  of  power 
or  authority  to  any  man  past  sixty,  but  the  Head  of  the 
Church  may  be  so  old  that  he  can  hardly  move  one  foot 
before  the  other,  yet  he  is  permitted  to  be  declared  the 
representative  of  the  ever-working,  ever-helping,  ever- 
comforting  Christ,  who  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be 
old!  Enough,  however  of  this  strange  superstition 
which  is  only  one  of  many  in  the  Church,  and  which  are 
all  the  result  of  double  or  perverted  sight, — I  come  to  the 
last  part  of  the  text  which  runs,  '  If  therefore  the  light 
in  thee  be  darkness  how  great  is  that  darkness.'  //  there- 
fore the  light  in  thee  be  darkness!  My  friends,  that 
is  exactly  my  condition,  and  has  been  my  condition  ever 
since  I  was  twenty.  The  light  in  me  has  been  darkness. 
The  intellectual  quality  of  my  brain  which  has  helped  me 
to  attain  my  present  false  position  among  you  ..." 

Here  he  paused,  for  there  was  a  distinct  movement  of 
surprise  among  his  audience,  which  till  now,  had  re- 
mained to  a  man  so  still  that  the  buzz  of  a  fly  on  the 
window-pane  sounded  almost  as  loud  as  the  drone  of  a 
bag-pipe, — then  with  a  faint  smile  on  his  lips  he  re- 
sumed,— 

"  I  hope  you  all  heard  my  words  distinctly !  I  said, 
the  false  position  I  have  attained  among  you.  I  repeat 
it  lest  there  should  be  any  mistake.  It  is  a  false  position 
and  always  has  been.  I  have  never  for  an  instant  be- 
lieved half  what  I  have  asked  you  to  believe !  And  I 
have  preached  to  you  what  I  have  never  dreamed  of 
practising!  Yet  I  venture  to  say  that  I  am  not  worse 
than  most  of  my  brethren.  The  intellectual  men  of 
France,  whether  clergy  or  laity,  are  in  a  difficult  situation. 
Their  brains  are  keen  and  clear ;  and,  intellectually  speak- 
ing, they  are  totally  unable  to  accept  the  Church  supersti- 
tions of  the  tenth  and  twelfth  centuries.  But  in  reject- 
ing superstition  it  would  have  been  quite  possible  to  have 
held  them  fast  to  a  sublime  faith  in  God  and  an  Immortal 
Future,  had  the  Church  caught  them  when  slipping,  and 
risen  to  the  mental  demand  made  upon  her  resources. 
But  the  old  worn-out  thunder  of  the  Vatican,  which  lately 
made  a  feeble  noise  in  America,  has  rolled  through  France 
with  the  same  assertion,  '  Discussion  cannot  be  tolerated  ' ; 
and  what  has  been  the  result?  Simply  this, — that  all 


The  Master-Christian.  185 

the  intellectual  force  of  the  country  is  arrayed  against 
priestcraft ; — and  the  spirit  of  an  insolent,  witty,  dom- 
ineering atheism  and  materialism  rules  us  all.  Even 
young  children  can  be  found  by  the  score  who  laugh  at 
the  very  idea  of  a  God,  and  who  fling  a  jeer  at  the  story 
of  the  Crucifixion  of  Christ, — while  vice  and  crime  are 
tolerated  and  often  excused.  Moral  restraint  is  being  less 
and  less  enforced,  and  the  clamouring  for  sensual  indulg- 
ence has  become  so  incessant  that  the  desire  of  the  whole 
country,  if  put  into  one  line,  might  be  summed  up  in  the 
impotent  cry  of  the  Persian  voluptuary  Omar  Khayyam 
to  his  god,  '  Reconcile  the  law  to  my  desires  '.  This  is 
as  though  a  gnat  should  seek  to  build  a  cathedral,  and 
ask  for  the  laws  of  architecture  to  be  altered  in  order  to 
suit  his  gnat-like  capacity.  The  Law  is  the  Law ;  and  if 
broken,  brings  punishment.  The  Law  makes  for  good, 
— and  if  we  pull  back  for  evil,  destroys  us  in  its  outward 
course.  Vice  breeds  corruption  in  body  and  in  soul ;  and 
history  furnishes  us  with  more  than  sufficient  examples 
of  that  festering  disease.  It  is  plainly  demanded  of  us 
that  we  should  assist  God's  universe  in  its  way  towards 
perfection;  if  we  refuse,  and  set  a  drag  on  the  majestic 
Wheel,  we  are  ourselves  crushed  in  its  progress.  Here 
is  where  our  Church  errs  in  the  present  generation.  It  is 
setting  itself  as  a  drag  on  the  Wheel.  Meanwhile,  Truth 
advances  every  day,  and  with  no  uncertain  voice  proclaims 
the  majesty  of  God.  Heaven's  gates  are  thrown  open ; — 
the  secrets  of  the  stars  are  declared, — the  mysteries  of 
light  and  sound  are  discovered ;  and  we  are  approaching 
possibly  to  the  time  when  the  very  graves  shall  give  up 
their  d'ead,  and  the  secrets  of  all  men's  hearts  shall  be 
made  manifest.  Yet  we  go  on  lying,  deceiving,  cajoling, 
humbugging  each  other  and  ourselves ; — living  a  daily 
life  of  fraud  and  hypocrisy,  with  a  sort  of  smug  convic- 
tion in  our  souls  that  we  shall  never  be  found  out.  We 
make  a  virtue  of  animalism,  and  declare  the  Beast-Phil- 
osophy to  be  in  strict  keeping  with  the  order  of  nature. 
We  gloat  over  our  secret  sins,  and  face  the  world  with 
a  brazen  front  of  assumed  honour.  Oh,  we  are  excellent 
liars  all!  But  somehow  we  never  seem  to  think  we  are 
fools  as  well !  We  never  remember  that  all  we  do  and  all 
we  say,  is  merely  the  adding  of  figures  to  a  sum  which 
in  the  end  must  be  made  up  to  the  grand  total,  and  paid ! 


1 86  The  Master-Christian. 

Every  figure  tells ; — the  figure  '  nought '  especially,  puts 
an  extra  thousand  on  the  whole  quantity !  But  the  light 
in  us  being  darkness,  how  great  is  that  darkness !  So 
great  that  we  refuse  to  look  an  inch  before  us !  We  will 
not  see,  we  will  not  understand, — we  utterly  decline  to 
accept  any  teaching  or  advice  which  might  inflict  some 
slight  inconvenience  on  our  own  Ego.  And  so  we  go  on 
day  after  day,  till  all  at  once  a  reckoning  is  called  and 
death  stares  us  in  the  face.  What!  So  soon  finished? 
All  over?  Must  we  go  at  once,  and  no  delay?  Must 
we  really  and  truly  drop  all  our  ridiculous  lies  and  con- 
ventions and  be  sent  away  naked-souled  into  the  Living 
Unknown?  Not  the  Dead  Unknown  remember! — for 
nothing  is  actually  dead !  The  whole  universe  palpitates 
and  burns  with  ever  re-created  life.  What  have  we  done 
with  the  past  life  ? — and  what  shall  we  do  with  this  other 
life?  Oh,  but  there  is  no  time  to  ask  questions  now, — 
we  should  have  asked  them  before ;  the  hour  of  departure. 
is  come,  and  there  is  not  a  moment's  breathing  time ! 
Our  dear  friends  (if  we  have  any),  and  our  paid  doctors 
and  servants  stand  around  us  awe-struck, — they  watch 
out  last  convulsive  shudder — and  weep — not  so  much  for 
sorrow  sometimes  as  terror, — and  then  when  all  is  over, 
they  say  we  are  '  gone  '.  Yes, — we  are  gone — but  where  ? 
Well,  we  shall  each  of  us  find  that  out,  my  friends,  when 
we  pass  away  from  Popes,  Churches,  Creeds,  and  Con- 
ventions to  the  majesty  of  the  actual  Glory!  Shall  we 
pray  then?  Shall  we  weep?  Shall  we  talk  of  rituals? 
Shall  we  say  this  or  that  form  of  prayer  was  the  true 
one  ? — this  or  that  creed  was  the  '  only  '  one  ?  Shall  we 
complain  of  .our  neighbours  ? — or  shall  we  not  suddenly 
realise  that  there  never  was  but  one  way  of  life  and 
progress  through  creation, — the  good  and  pure,  the 
truthful  and  courageous,  as  taught  with  infinite  patience 
by  the  God-Man,  and  that  wheresoever  we  have  followed 
our  own  inclinations  rather  than  His  counsel,  then  our 
own  action,  not  God's  punishment,  condemns  us, — our 
oivn  words,  not  God's,  re-echo  back  our  sins  upon  our- 
selves !  " 

He  paused,  looking  everywhere  around  him, — all  his 
hearers  were  listening  with  an  almost  breathless  atten- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  yes !     I  know  the  charm  of  sin !  "  he  continued 


The  Master-Christian.  187 

with  mingled  mockery  and  passion  vibrating  in  his  voice ; 
— "  The  singular  fascination  of  pure  devilry !  All  of  you 
know  it  too, — those  of  you  who  court  the  world's  applause 
on  the  stage,  or  in  the  salons  of  art  and  literature,  and 
who  pretend  that  by  your  work  you  are  elevating  and 
assisting  humanity,  while  in  your  own  private  lives  you 
revel  in  such  vice  as  the  very  dogs  you  keep  might  be 
ashamed  of!  There  is  no  beast  so  bestial  as  man  at  his 
worst !  And  some  of  you  whom  I  know,  glory  in  being 
seen  at  your  worst  always.  There  are  many  among  you 
here  to-day  whose  sole  excuse  for  a  life  of  animalism  is, 
that  it  is  your  nature,  '  I  live  according  to  my  tempera- 
ment,— my  disposition, — I  do  not  wish  to  change  myself 
— you  cannot  change  me ;  I  am  as  I  am  made '  !  So 
might  the  thief  argue  as  he  steals  his  neighbour's  money, 
— so  may  the  murderer  console  himself  as  he  stabs  his  vic- 
tim !  '  It  is  my  nature  to  stab  and  to  steal — it  is  my 
nature  to  live  as  a  beast — I  do  not  wish  to  change;  you 
cannot  change  me  '.  Now  if  these  arguments  were  true, 
and  hold  good,  man  would  be  still  where  he  begun, — in 
the  woods  and  caves, — an  uncouth  savage  with  nothing 
save  an  animal  instinct  to  lead  him  where  he  could  find 
food.  But  even  this  earliest  instinct,  savage  though  it 
was,  taught  him  that  something  higher  than  himself  had 
made  him,  and  so  he  began  to  creep  on  by  slow  degrees 
towards  that  higher  at  once ;  hence  instinct  led  to  reason, 
and  reason  to  culture  and  civilization.  And  now  having 
touched  as  high  a  point  of  experience  and  knowledge  as 
the  ancient  Assyrians  and  Egyptians  attained  before  their 
decline,  he  is  beginning  even  as  they  did,  to  be  weary  and 
somewhat  afraid  of  what  lies  beyond  in  the  as  yet  un- 
fathomed  realms  of  knowledge;  a»d  he  half  wishes  to 
creep  back  again  on  all-fours  to  the  days  when  he  was 
beast  merely.  The  close  contemplation  of  the  Angel  ter- 
rifies him, — he  dare  not  grow  his  wings !  Further  than 
life,  as  life  appears  to  him  on  its  material  side,  he  is 
afraid  to  soar, — what  lies  in  the  far  distance  he  dare  not 
consider !  This  is  where  the  Pause  comes  in  all  progress, 
— the  hesitation,  the  doubt,  the  fear; — the  moment  when 
the  Creature  draws  so  near  to  his  Creator  that  he  is  daz- 
zled and  confounded.  And  it  is  a  strange  fact  that  he  is 
always  left  alone, — alone  with  his  own  Will,  in  every 
such  grand  crisis.  He  has  been  helped  so  much  by  divine 


1 88  The  Master-Christian. 

influences,  that  he  is  evidently  considered  strong  enough 
to  decide  his  own  fate.  He  is  strong  enough, — he  has 
sufficient  reason  and  knowledge  to  decide  it  for  the  High- 
est, if  he  would.  But,  with  national  culture  goes  national 
luxury, — the  more  civilised  a  community,  the  greater  its 
bodily  ease, — the  more  numerous  the  temptations  against 
which  we  are  told  we  must  fight.  Spirit  flies  forward — 
Body  pulls  back.  But  Spirit  is  one  day  bound  to  win ! 
We  have  attained  in  this  generation  a  certain  knowledge 
of  Soul-forces — and  we  are  on  a  verge,  where,  if  we  hes- 
itate, we  are  lost,  and  must  recoil  upon  our  own  Ego  as 
the  centre  of  all  desire.  But  if  we  go  on  boldly  and 
leave  our  own  Ego  behind,  we  shall  see  the  gates  of 
Heaven  opening  indeed,  and  all  the  Mysteries  unveiled ! 
How  often  we  pause  on  the  verge  of  better  things,  doubt- 
ing whether  to  rise  or  grovel!  The  light  in  us  is  dark- 
ness, and  how  great  is  that  darkness!  Such  is  the  state 
of  mind  in  which  I,  your  preacher,  have  found  myself 
for  many  years  !  I  do  not  know  whether  to  rise  or  grovel, 
— to  sink  or  soar !  To  be  absolutely  candid  with  you,  I  am 
quite  sure  that  I  should  not  sink  in  your  opinion  for  con- 
fessing myself  to  be  as  outrageous  in  my  conceptions  of 
mortality  as  many  of  you  are.  You  would  possibly  pretend 
to  be  ashamed  of  me,  but  in  your  hearts  you  would  like 
me  all  the  better.  The  sinking  or  the  soaring  of  my  na- 
ture has  therefore  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  you.  It 
is  a  strictly  personal  question.  But  what  I  specially  wish 
to  advise  you  of  this  morning, — taking  myself  as  an  ex- 
ample,— is  that  none  of  you,  whether  inclined  to  virtue 
or  to  vice,  should  remain  such  arrant  fools  as  to  imagine 
that  your  sins  will  not  find  you  out.  They  will, — the  in- 
stant they  are  committed,  their  sole  mission  is  to  start 
on  your  track,  and  hunt  you  down !  I  cannot  absolutely 
vouch  to  you  that  there  is  a  God, — but  I  am  positive 
there  is  a  hidden  process  of  mathematics  going  on  in  the 
universe  which  sums  up  our  slightest  human  affairs  with 
an  exactitude  which  at  the  least  is  amazing.  Twenty- 
five  years  ago  I  did  a  great  wrong  to  a  human  creature 
who  was  innocent,  and  who  absolutely  trusted  me. 
There  is  no  crime  worse  than  this,  yet  it  seemed  to  me 
quite  a  trifling  affair, — an  amusement — a  nothing!  I 
was  perfectly  aware  that  by  some  excessively  straight- 
laced  people  it  might  be  termed  a  sin;  but  my  ideas 'of 


The  Master-Christian.  189 

sin  were  as  easy  and  condoning  as  yours  are.  I  never 
repented  it, — I  can  hardly  say  I  ever  thought  of  it, — if 
I  did  I  excused  myself  quickly,  and  assured  my  own  con- 
science in  the  usual  way,  that  the  fault  was  merely  the 
result  of  circumstances  over  which  I  had  no  control.  Oh, 
those  uncontrollable  circumstances !  ^  How  convenient 
they  are !  And  what  a  weak  creature  they  make  of  man, 
who  at  other  times  than  those  of  temptation,  is  wont  to 
assert  himself  master  of  this  planet !  Master  of  a  planet 
and  cannot  control  a  vice!  Excellent!  Well, — I  never, 
as  I  say,  thought  of  the  wrong  I  had  done, — but  if  /  for- 
got it,  some  One  or  some  Thing  remembered  it!  Yes — 
remembered  it! — put  it  down — chronicled  it  with  pre- 
cision as  to  time  and  place, — and  set  it,  a  breathing  fact, 
before  me  in  my  old  age, — a  living  witness  of  my  own 
treachery." 

He  paused,  the  congregation  stirred, — the  actor  Mirau- 
din  looked  up  at  him  with  a  surprised  half-smile.  Angela 
Sovrani  lifted  her  beautiful  violet  eyes  towards  him  in 
amazed  compassion, — Cardinal  Bonpre,  recalling  the 
Abbe  previous  confession  to  him,  bent  his  head,  deeply 
moved. 

"  Treachery,"  resumed  Vergniaud  determinedly,  "  Is 
always  a  covert  thing.  We  betray  each  other  in  the  dark, 
with  silent  foot-steps  and  sibilant  voices.  We  whisper 
our  lies.  We  concoct  our  intrigues  with  carefully  closed 
doors.  I  did  so.  I  was  a  priest  of  the  Roman  Church 
as  I  am  now ;  it  would  never  have  done  for  a  priest  to  be  a 
social  sinner !  I  therefore  took  every  precaution  to  hide 
my  fault; — but  out  of  my  lie  springs  a  living  condemna- 
tion ;  from  my  carefully  concealed  hypocrisy  comes  a 
blazonry  of  truth,  and  from  my  secret  sin  comes  an  open 
vengeance  .  .  ." 

At  the  last  words  the  loud  report  of  a  pistol  sounded 
through  the  building  .  .  .  there  was  a  puff  of  smoke,  a 
gleam  of  flame,  and  a  bullet  whizzed  straight  at  the  head 
of  the  preacher !  The  congregation  rose,  en  masse,  utter- 
ing exclamations  of  terror, — but  before  anyone  could 
know  exactly  what  had  happened  the  smoke  cleared,  and 
.the  Abbe  Vergniaud  was  seen  leaning  against  the  steps 
of  the  pulpit,  pale  but  uninjured,  and  in  front  of  him 
stood  the  boy  Manuel  with  arms  outstretched,  and  a  smile 
on  his  face.  The  bullet  had  split  the  pulpit  immediately 


190  The  Master-Christian. 

above  him.  An  excited  group  assembled  round  them  im- 
mediately, and  the  Abbe  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  am  not  hurt ! — "  he  said  quickly — "  See  to  the  boy ! 
He  sprang  in  front  of  me  and  saved  my  life." 

But  Manuel  was  equally  unhurt,  and  waived  aside  all 
enquiries  and  compliments.  And  while  eager  questions 
were  poured  out  and  answered,  a  couple  of  gendarmes 
were  seen  struggling  in  the  centre  of  the  church  with  a 
man  who  seemed  to  have  the  power  of  a  demon,  so  fierce 
and  frantic  were  his  efforts  to  escape. 

"Ah,  voila!  The  assassin!"  cried  Miraudin,  hasten- 
ing to  give  assistance. 

"  The  assassin !  "  echoed  a  dozen  other  persons  press- 
ing in  the  same  direction. 

Vergniaud  heard,  and  gave  one  swift  glance  at  Car- 
dinal Bonpre  who,  though  startled  by  the  rapidity  and 
excitement  of  the  scene  that  had  occurred,  was  equal  to 
the  occasion,  and  understood  his  friend's  appeal  at  once, 
even  before  he  said  hurriedly, 

"  Monseigneur !  Tell  them  to  let  him  go ! or 

bring  him  face  to  face  with  me !  " 

The  Cardinal  endeavoured  to  pass  through  the  crowd, 
but  though  some  made  way  for  him  on  account  of  his  ec- 
clesiastical dignity,  others  closed  in,  and  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  move  more  than  a  few  steps.  Then  Vergniaud, 
moved  by  a  sudden  resolve,  raised  himself  a  little,  and 
resting  one  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Manuel,  who  still 
remained  on  the  steps  of  the  pulpit  in  front  of  him,  he 
called, 

"  Let  Monsieur  the  assassin  come  here  to  me !  I  have 
a  word  to  say  to  him ! " 

Through  the  swaying,  tumultuous,  murmuring  throng 
came  a  sudden  stillness,  and  everyone  drew  back  as  the 
gendarmes  responding  to  Abbe  Vergniaud 's  command, 
pushed  their  way  along,  dragging  and  hustling  their  pris- 
oner between  them, — a  young  black-browed,  black-eyed 
peasant  with  a  handsome  face  and  proud  bearing,  whose 
defiant  manner  implied  that  having  made  one  fierce  strug- 
gle for  liberty  and  finding  it  in  vain,  he  was  now  disdain- 
fully resigned  to  the  inevitable.  When  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  Abbe  he  lifted  his  head,  and  flashed  his  dark 
eyes  upon  him  with  a  look  of  withering  contempt.  His 
lips  parted, — he  seemed  about  to  speak  when  his  glance 


The  Master-Christian.  191 

accidentally  fell  upon  Manuel, — then  something  caused 
him  to  hesitate, — he  checked  himself  on  the  very  verge 
of  speech  and  remained  silent.  The  Abbe  surveyed  him 
with  something  of  a  quizzical  half-admiring  smile,  then 
addressing  the  gendarmes  he  said, 

"  Let  him  go !  " 

The  men  looked  up  astonished,  doubting  whether  they 
had  heard  aright. 

"  Let  him  go !  "  repeated  the  Abbe  firmly,  "  I  have  no 
accusation  to  make  against  him.  Had  he  killed  me  he 
would  have  been  perfectly  justified!  Let  him  go!  " 

"  Cher  Abbe !  "  remonstrated  the  Marquis  Fontenelle, 
who  had  made  himself  one  of  the  group  immediately 
around  the  pulpit,  "  Is  not  this  a  mistake  on  your  part  ? 
Let  me  advise  you  not  to  be  so  merciful  .  .  ." 

'  Blessed  are  the  merciful  for  they  shall  obtain 
mercy '  " !  quoted  the  Abbe  with  a  strange  smile,  while 
his  breath  came  and  went  quickly,  and  his  face  grew 
paler  as  he  spoke.  "  Set  him  free,  messieurs,  if  you 
please !  I  decline  to  prosecute  my  own  flesh  and  blood ! 
I  will  be  answerable  for  his  future  conduct, — I  am  en- 
tirely answerable  for  his  past !  He  is  my  son !  " 


XIV. 

No  one  ever  afterwards  quite  knew  how  the  crowd  in 
the  church  broke  up  and  dispersed  itself  after  this  de- 
nouement. For  a  few  minutes  the  crush  of  people  round 
the  pulpit  was  terrific ;  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  young 
black-browed  peasant  who  had  so  nearly  been  a  parri- 
cide,— and  on  the  father  who  publicly  exonerated  him, — 
and  then  there  came  a  pressing  towards  the  doors  which 
was  excessively  dangerous  to  life  and  limb.  Cardinal 
Bonpre,  greatly  moved  by  the  whole  unprecedented 
scene,  placed  himself  in  front  of  Angela  as  a  shield  and 
defence  from  the  crowd ;  but  before  he  had  time  to  con- 
sider how  he  should  best  pilot  her  through  the  pushing 
and  scrambling  throng,  a  way  was  made  for  him  by 
Manuel,  who, — with  a  quiet  step  and  unruffled  bearing, 
— walked  through  the  thickest  centre  of  the  crowd,  which 
parted  easily  on  either  side  of  him,  as  though  commanded 
to  do  so  by  some  unheard  but  absolute  authority.  Ad- 
miring and  wondering  glances  were  turned  upon  the  boy, 
whose  face  shone  with  such  a  grave  peace  and  sweetness ; 
— he  had  saved  the  Abbe's  life,  the  people  whispered,  by 
springing  up  the  steps  of  the  pulpit,  and  throwing  him- 
self between  the  intended  victim  and  the  bullet  of  his  as- 
sailant. Who  was  he?  Where  did  he  come  from?  No 
one  knew ; — he  was  merely  the  attendant  of  that  tall  as- 
cetic-looking Cardinal,  the  uncle  of  the  famous  Sovrani. 
So  the  words  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  as  Felix  Bon- 
pre and  his  niece  moved  slowly  through  the  throng,  fol- 
lowing Manuel ; — then,  when  they  had  passed,  there  came 
a  general  hubbub  and  confusion  once  more,  and  the  peo- 
ple hustled  and  elbowed  each  other  through  the  church 
regardless  of  consequences,  eager  to  escape  and  discuss 
among  themselves  me  sensation  of  the  morning. 

"  C'est  tin  drdme!  Un  veritable  drdme!  "  said  Mirau- 
din,  pausing,  as  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
Marquis  Fontenelle. 

Fontenelle  stared  haughtily. 


The  Master-Christian.  193 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me,  Monsieur  ?  "  he  enquired,  glanc- 
ing the  actor  up  and  down  with  an  air  of  supreme  dis- 
dain. 

Miraudin  laughed  carelessly. 

"  Yes,  I  spoke  to  you,  Marquis !  "  he  replied,  "  I  said 
that  the  public  confession  of  our  dear  priest  Vergniaud 
was  a  veritable  drame!" 

"  An  unfortunate  scandal  in  the  Church !  "  said  Fonte- 
nelle  curtly. 

"  Yes !  "  went  on  the  unabashed  Miraudin,  "  If  it  were 
on  the  stage  it  would  be  taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  An 
actor's  follies  help  to  populate  the  world.  But  a  priest's 
petite  faute  would  seem  to  suggest  the  crushing  down 
of  a  universe !  " 

"  Custom  and  usage  make  the  rule  in  these  things," 
said  Fontenelle  turning  away,  "  I  have  the  honour  to 
wish  you  good-day,  Monsieur !  " 

"  One  moment !  "  said  the  actor  smiling,  "  There  is  a 
curious  personal  resemblance  between  you  and  me,  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis!  Have  you  ever  noticed  it?  We  might 

almost  be  brothers  by  our  looks and  also  I  believe  by 

our  temperaments !  " 

Fontenelle's  hazel  eyes  flashed  angrily. 

"  I  think  not !  "  he  said  coldly,  "  A  certain  resemblance 
between  totally  unrelated  persons  is  quite  common.  For 
the  rest,  we  are  absolutely  different — absolutely ! " 

Again  Miraudin  laughed. 

"  As  you  will,  Marquis !  "  and  he  raised  his  hat  with  a 
light,  half-mocking  air,  "  Au  revoir !  " 

Fontenelle  scarcely  acknowledged  the  salutation, — he 
was  too  much  annoyed.  He  considered  it  a  piece  of  in- 
solence on  Miraudin's  part  to  have  addressed  him  at  all 
without  previous  introduction.  It  was  true  that  the  fa- 
mous actor  was  permitted  a  license  not  granted  to  the 
ordinary  individual, — as  indeed  most  actors  are.  Even 
princes,  who  hedge  themselves  round  with  impassable 
barriers  to  certain  of  their  subjects  who  are  in  all  ways 
great  and  worthy  of  notice,  unbend  to  the  Mime  who  to- 
day takes  the  place  of  the  Court-jester,  and  allow  him  to 
enter  the  royal  presence,  often  bringing  his  newest  wan- 
ton with  him.  And  there  was  not  the  slightest  reason 
for  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  to  be  at  all  particular  in  his 
choice  of  acquaintances.  Yet  somehow  or  other,  he  was. 


194  The  Master-Christian. 

The  fine  and  sensitive  instincts  of  a  gentleman  were  in 
him,  and  though  in  the  very  depths  of  his  own  conscience 
he  knew  himself  to  be  as  much  of  a  social  actor  as  Mirau- 
din  was  a  professional  one, — though  he  was  aware  that 
his  passions  were  as  sensual,  and  therefore  as  vulgar,  (for 
sensuality  is  vulgarity),  there  was  a  latent  pride  in  him 
which  forbade  him  to  set  himself  altogether  on  the  same 
level.  And  now  as  he  walked  away  haughtily,  his  fine 
aristocratic  head  lifted  a  little  higher  in  air  than  usual,  he 
was  excessively  irritated — with  Everything  and  everybody, 
but  with  himself  in  particular.  Abbe  Vergniaud's  ser- 
mon had  stung  him  in  several  ways,  and  the  startling 
finale  had  vexed  him  still  more. 

"  What  folly !  "  he  thought,  as  he  entered  his  luxuri- 
ously appointed  flat,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair  with 
a  kind  of  angry  weariness,  "  How  utterly  stupid  of 
Vergniaud  to  blazon  the  fact  that  he  is  no  better  than 
other  men,  in  the  full  face  of  his  congregation !  He  must 
be  mad !  A  priest  of  the  Roman  Church  publicly  ac- 
knowledging a  natural  son !  *  Has  ever  such  a  thing  been 
heard  of !  And  the  result  is  merely  to  create  scandal  and 
invite  his  own  disgrace !  A  quoi  bon! " 

He  lit  a  cigarette  and  puffed  at  it  impatiently.  His 
particular  "  code  "  of  morality  had  been  completely  up- 
set;— things  seemed  to  have  taken  a  turn  for  general  of- 
fence, and  the  simplest  thoughts  became  like  bristles  in 
his  brain,  pricking  him  uncomfortably  in  various  sore 
and  sensitive  places.  Then,  added  to  his  general  sense  of 
spleen  was  the  unpleasant  idea  that  he  was  really  in  love, 
where  he  had  never  meant  to  be  in  love.  "  In  love  ",  is  a 
wide  term  nowadays,  and  covers  a  multitude  of  poor  and 
petty  passing  emotions, — and  it  is  often  necessary  to  add 
the  word  "  really  "  to  it,  in  order  to  emphasise  the  fact 
that  the  passion  has  perhaps, — and  even  then  it  is  only 

*  ROME,  August  19,  1899. — A  grave  scandal  has  just  burst  upon  the 
world  here.  The  Gazetta  di  Venezia  having  attacked  the  bishops 
attending  the  recent  conclave  of  "  Latin  America,"  that  is,  Spanish- 
speaking  America,  as  men  of  loose  morality,  the  Osservatore  Cattolico, 
the  Vatican  organ,  replied  declaring  that  the  life  of  the  bishops  present 
at  the  conclave  was  above  suspicion.  The  Gazetta  di  Venezia  responds, 
affirming  that  the  majority  of  the  bishops  brought  with  them  to  Rome 
their  mistresses,  and  in  some  instances  their  children.  The  Gazetta 
offers  to  disclose  the  names  of  these  bishops,  and  demands  that  the  Pope 
shall  satisfy  the  Catholic  world  by  taking  measures  against  them. — 
Central  News. 


The  Master-Christian.  195 

a  perhaps, — taken  a  somewhat  lasting  form.  Why  could 
not  Sylvie  Hermenstein  have  allowed  things  to  run  their 
natural  course? — this  natural  course  being  according  to 
Fontenelle,  to  drop  into  his  arms  when  asked,  and  leave 
those  arms  again  with  equal  alacrity  also  when  asked! 
It  would  have  been  quite  pleasant  and  satisfactory  to  him, 
the  Marquis  ; — and  for  Sylvie — well ! — for  Sylvie,  she 
would  soon  have  got  over  it!  Now:  there  was  all  this 
fuss  and  pother  about  virtue!  Virtue,  quotha-!  In  a 
woman,  and  in  Paris !  At  this  time  of  day !  Could  any- 
thing be  more  preposterous  and  ridiculous ! 

"  One  would  imagine  I  had  stumbled  into  a  convent 
for  young  ladies,"  he  grumbled  to  himself,  "  What  with 
Sylvie  actually  gone,  and  that  pretty  pattern  of  chastity, 
Angela  Sovrani,  preaching  at  me  with  her  big  violet  eyes, 
— and  now  Vergniaud  who  used  to  be  '  bon  camarade  et 

bon  z'irant ',  branding  himself  a  social  sinner really 

one  would  imagine  that  some  invisible  Schoolmaster  was 
trying  to  whip  me  into  order  ..." 

"  P cut-on  cntrcr?  "  called  a  clear  voice  outside  at  this 
juncture,  and  without  waiting  for  permission  the  speaker 
entered,  a  very  pretty  woman  in  an  admirably  fitting  rid- 
ing habit,  which  she  held  daintily  up  with  one  gloved 
hand,  extending  the  other  as  she  came  to  the  Marquis 
who  gracefully  bent  over  it  and  kissed  it. 

"  Char  me  de  roiis  -coir,  Princesse!"  he  murmured. 

"  Xot  at  all !  Spare  me  your  falsehoods !  "  was  the  gay 
reply,  accompanied  by  a  dazzling  smile,  "  You  are  not  in 
the  least  charmed,  nothing, — nobody  charms  you, — I  least 
of  all !  Did  you  not  see  me  in  church  ?  No !  Where  were 
your  eyes  ?  On  the  courageous  Vergniaud,  who  so  nearly 
gave  us  the  melancholy  task  of  arranging  a  '  chapelle 
ardente '  for  him  this  afternoon?  "  She  laughed,  and  her 
eyes  twinkled  maliciously, — then  she  went  on,  "  Do  you 
know  he  is  quite  a  delightful  boy, — the  peasant  son  and 
assassin  ?  I  think  of  taking  him  to  my  Chateau  and  mak- 
ing something  of  him.  I  waited  to  see  the  whole  play  out, 
and  bring  you  the  news.  Papa  Vergniaud  has  gone  home 

with  his  good-looking  offspring then  Cardinal  Bon- 

pre do  you  know  the  Cardinal  Bonpre  ?  " 

"  By  reputation  merely,"  replied  the  Marquis,  setting 
a  chair  for  his  fair  visitor,  "  And  as  the  uncle  of  Donna 
Sovrani." 


196 


The  Master-Christian. 


"  Oh,  reputation  is  nothing,"  laughed  the  lady,  known 
as  the  Princesse  D'Agramont,  an  independent  beauty  of 
great  wealth  and  brilliant  attainments,  "  Your  butler  can 
give  you  a  reputation,  or  take  it  away  from  you!  But 
the  Cardinal's  reputation  is  truly  singular.  It  is  good- 
ness, merely !  He  is  so  good  that  he  has  become  actually 
famous  for  it!  Now  I  once  thought  that  to  become  fa- 
mous for  goodness  must  surely  imply  that  the  person  so 
celebrated  had  a  very  hypocritical  nature, — the  worst  of 
natures  indeed ; — that  of  pretending  to  be  what  he  was 
not, — but  I  was  mistaken.  Cardinal  Bonpre  is  good. 
Absolutely  sincere  and  noble — therefore  a  living  marvel 
in  this  age !  " 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  severe,  Princesse,"  said  the 
Marquis,  "  Is  sincerity  so  difficult  to  find  ?  " 

"  The  most  difficult  of  virtues ! "  answered  the 
Princesse,  lightly  tapping  out  a  little  tune  with  the  jew- 
elled handle  of  her  riding  whip  on  the  arm  of  her  chair, 
"  That  is  why  I  like  horses  and  dogs  so  much — they  are 
always  honest.  And  for  that  reason  I  am  now  inclined 
to  like  Abbe  Vergniaud  whom  I  never  liked  before.  He 
has  turned  honest !  To-day  indeed  he  has  been  as 
straightforward  as  if  he  were  not  a  man  at  all ! — and  I 
admire  him  for  it.  He  and  his  son  will  be  my  guests  at 
the  Chateau  D'Agramont." 

"  What  a  very  strange  woman  you  are !  "  said  Fon- 
tenelle,  with  a  certain  languid  admiration  beginning  to 
glimmer  in  his  eyes,  "  You  always  do  things  that  no- 
body else  would  dare  do — and  yet  ...  no  lovers !  " 

She  turned  herself  swiftly  round  and  surveyed  him 
with  a  bright  scorn  that  swept  him  as  with  a  lightning 
flash  from  head  to  heel. 

"  Lovers  !  Who  would  be  bored  by  them !  Such  de- 
lightful company !  So  unselfish  in  their  demands so 

tender  and  careful  of  a  woman's  feelings  !  Pouf !  Cher 
ami! — you  forget!  I  was  the  wife  of  the  late  Prince 
D'Agramont !  " 

"  That  explains  a  great  many  of  your  moods  certainly," 
said  the  Marquis  smiling. 

"  Does  it  not  ?  Le  beau  Louis ! — romantic  Louis ! — 
poet  Louis ! — musician  Louis ! — Louis,  who  talked  pretty 
philosophies  by  the  hour. — Louis  who  looked  so  beautiful 
by  moonlight, — who  seemed  fastidious  and  refined  to  a 


The  Master-Christian.  197 

degree  thaf  was  almost  ethereal ! Louis  who  swore, 

with  passion  flashing  in  his  eyes,  that  I  was  the  centre 
of  the  universe  to  him,  and  that  no  other  woman  had  ever 
occupied,  would  ever  occupy,  or  should  ever  occupy  his 
thoughts ! — yes,  he  was  an  ideal  lover  and  husband  in- 
deed !  "  said  the  Princesse  smiling  coldly,  "  I  gave  him  all 
my  life  and  love,  till  one  day,  when  I  found  I  was  sharing 
his  caresses  with  my  plumpest  dairymaid,  who  called 
him  "  her  Louis  "  !  Then  I  thought  it  was  time  to  put  an 
end  to  romance.  Tiens! "  and  she  gave  a  little  shrug  and 
sigh,  "  It  is  sad  to  think  he  died  of  over-eating." 

The  Marquis  laughed. 

"  You  are  incorrigible,  belle  Loyse !  "  he  said,  "  You 
should  write  these  things,  not  speak  them." 

"  Really !  And  do  I  not  write  them  ?  Yes,  you  know 
I  do,  and  that  you  envy  me  my  skill.  The  Figaro 
is  indebted  to  me  for  many  admirable  essays.  At 
the  same  time  I  do  not  give  you  permission  to  call  me 
Loyse." 

"  Forgive  me !  "  and  the  Marquis  folded  his  hands 
with  an  air  of  mock  penitence. 

"  Perhaps  I  will,  presently,"  and  she  laughed,  "  But 
meanwhile  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"  Touj ours  a  votre  service,  madame!"  and  Fontenelle 
bowed  profoundly. 

"  How  theatrical  you  look !  You  are  alarmingly  like 
Miraudin ; — and  one  must  draw  the  line  at  Miraudin ! 
This  is  a  day  of  truth  according  to  the  Abbe  Vergniaud ; 
how  dare  you  say  you  are  at  my  service  when  you  do  not 
mean  it?  " 

"  Princesse,  I  protest    .    .    ." 

"  Oh,  protest  as  much  as  you  like, — on  the  way  to 
Rome !  " 

The  Marquis  started. 

"To  Rome?" 

"  Yes,  to  Rome.  I  am  going,  and  I  want  someone  to 
look  after  me.  Will  you  come?  All  Paris  will  say  we 
have  eloped  together."  She  laughed  merrily. 

The  Marquis  stood  perplexed  and  silent. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  went  on  the  Princesse  gaily,  "  Is 
there  some  faint  sense  of  impropriety  stealing  over  you? 
Not  possible !  Dear  me,  your  very  muscles  are  growing 
rigid!  You  will  not  go?" 


198 


The  Master-Christian. 


"'  Madame,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  be  frank  with  you, 
— I  would  rather  not !  " 

"A  la  bonheur! — then  I  have  you!"  And  the 
Princesse  rose,  a  dazzling  smile  irradiating  her  features, 
"  You  have  thrown  open  your  heart !  You  have  begun 
to  reform !  You  love  Sylvie  Hermenstein — yes  ! — you 
positively  love  her !  " 

"  Princesse — "  began  the  Marquis,  "  I  assure  you " 

"  Assure  me  nothing !  "  and  she  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eyes,  "  I  know  all  about  it!  You  will  not  journey 
with  me  because  you  think  the  Comtesse  Sylvie  will  hear 
of  it,  and  put  a  wrong  construction  on  your  courtesy. 
You  wish  to  try  for  once,  to  give  her  no  cause  for  doubt- 
ing you  to  be  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche.  You  wish  to 
make  her  think  you  something  better  than  a  sort  of 
Miraudin  whose  amorous  inclinations  are  not  awakened 
by  one  woman,  but  by  women !  And  so  you  will  not  do 
anything  which,  though  harmless  in  itself,  may  seem 
equivocal.  For  this  you  refuse  the  friendly  invitation  of 
one  of  the  best  known  '  society  leaders '  in  Europe ! 
Cher  Marquis ! — it  is  a  step  in  the  right  direction ! 
Adieu!" 

"  You  are  not  going  so  soon,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  Wait 
till  I 'explain  .  . 

"  There  is  nothing  to  explain ! "  and  the  pretty 
Princesse  gave  'him  her  hand  with  a  beneficent  air,  "  I 
am  very  pleased  with  you.  You  are  what  the  English 
call  '  good  boy  ' !  Now  I  am  going  to  see  the  Abbe  and 
place  the  Chateau  D'Agramont  at  his  disposal  while  he 
is  waiting  to  be  excommunicated, — for  of  course  he  will 
be  excommunicated " 

"  What  does  it  matter ! — Who  cares  ?  "  said  the  Mar- 
quis recklessly. 

"  It  does  not  matter,  and  nobody  cares — not  in  actual 
Paris.  But  very  very  nice  people  in  the  suburbs,  who  are 
morally  much  worse  than  the  Abbe,  will  perhaps  refuse 
to  receive  him.  That  is  why  my  doors  are  open  to  him, 
and  also  to  his  son." 

"  Original,  as  usual !  " 

"  Perfectly !  I  am  going  to  write  a  column  for  the 
Figaro  on  the  amazing  little  scene  of  this  morning.  Au 
revoirl  My  poor  horse  has  been  waiting  too  long  al- 
ready,— I  must  finish  my  ride  in  the  Bois,  and  then  go  to 


The  Master-Christian  199 

Angela  Sovrani ;  for  all  the  dramatis  persona  of  to-day's 
melodrama  are  at  her  studio,  I  believe." 

"  Who  is  that  boy  with  the  Cardinal  ?  "  asked  the  Mar- 
quis suddenly. 

"  You  have  noticed  him  ?  I  also.  A  wonderful  face ! 
A  little  acolyte,  no  doubt.  And  so  you  will  not  go  to 
Rome  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  and  Fontenelle  smiled. 

"  Comuie  il  I'ous  plaira!     I  will  tell  Sylvie." 

"  The  Comtesse  Hermenstein  is  not  in  Paris." 

"  No ! "  and  the  Princesse  laughed  mischievously, 
"  She  is  in  Rome !  She  must  have  arrived  there  this 
morning.  An  revoir,  Marquis !  "  Another  dazzling  smile, 
and  she  was  gone. 

Fontenelle  stood  staring  after  her  in  amazement.  Syl- 
vie was  in  Rome  then?  And  he  had  just  refused  to  ac- 
company the  Princesse  D'Agramont  thither !  A  sudden 
access  of  irritation  came  over  him,  and  he  paced  the 
room  angrily.  Should  he  also  go  to  Rome  ?  Never !  It 
would  seem  too  close  a  pursuit  of  a  woman  who  had  by 
her  actions  distinctly  shown  that  she  wished  to  avoid  him. 
Now  he  wrould  prove  to  her  that  he  also  had  a  will  of  his 
own.  He  would  leave  Paris ; — he  would  go — yes,  he 
would  go  to  Africa !  Everybody  went  to  Africa.  It  was 
becoming  a  fashionable  pasture-land  for  disappointed 
lives.  He  would  lose  himself  in  the  desert, — and  then — 
then  Sylvie  would  be  sorry  when  she  did  not  know  where 
he  was  or  what  he  was  doing !  But  also, — he  in  his  turn 
would  not  know  here  Sylvie  was,  or  what  she  was  doing ! 
This  was  annoying.  It  was  certain  that  she  would  not  re- 
main in  Rome  a  day  longer  than  she  chose  to, — well! — 
then  where  would  she  go  ?  In  Africa  he  would  find  some 
difficulty  in  tracing  her  movements.  On  second  thoughts 
he  resolved  that  he  would  lose  himself  in  another  fashion 

— and  would  go  to  Rome  to  do  it ! 

"  She  shall  not  know  I  am  there !  "  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  kind  of  triumph  in  his  own  decision,  "  I  shall 

amuse  myself 1  shall  see  her — but  she  shall  not 

see  me." 

Satisfied  with  this  as  yet  vague  plan  of  entertainment, 
he  began  at  once  making  his  arrangements  for  departure ; 
— meanwhile,  the  Princesse  D'Agramont  riding  grace- 
fully through  the  Bois  on  her  beautiful  Arab,  was  amus- 


2OO  The  Master-Christian. 

ing  herself  with  her  thoughts,  and  weighing  the  pros  and 
cons  of  the  different  lives  of  her  friends,  without  giving 
the  slightest  consideration  to  her  own.  Here  was  a 
strange  nature, — as  a  girl  she  had  been  intensely  loving, 
generous  and  warm-hearted,  and  she  had  adored  her 
husband  with  exceptional  faith  and  devotion.  But  the 
handsome  Prince's  amours  were  legion,  though  he  had 
been  fairly  successful  in  concealing  them  from  his  wife, 
till  the  unlucky  day  when  she  had  found  him  making 
desperate  love  to  a  common  servant, — and  after  that  her 
confidence,  naturally,  was  at  an  end.  One  discovery  led 
to  another, — and  the  husband  around  whom  she  had 
woven  her  life's  romance,  sank  degraded  in  her  sight, 
never  to  rise  again.  She  was  of  far  too  dignified  and 
proud  a  nature  to  allow  her  sense  of  outrage  and  wrong 
to  be  made  public,  and  though  she  never  again  lived  with 
D'Agramont  as  his  wife,  she  carried  herself  through  all 
her  duties  as  mistress  of  the  household  and  hostess  of  his 
guests,  with  a  brave  bright  gaiety,  which  deceived  even 
the  closest  observer, — and  the  gossips  of  Paris  used  to 
declare  that  she  did  not  know  the  extent  of  her  husband's 
follies.  But  she  did  know, — and  while  filled  with  utter 
disgust  and  loathing  for  his  conduct  she  nevertheless  gave 
him  no  cause  of  complaint  against  herself.  And  when 
he  died  of  a  fever  brought  on  through  over-indulgence 
in  vice,  she  conformed  to  all  the  strictest  usages  of  society, 
— wore  her  solemn  widow's  black  for  more  than  the  ac- 
customed period, — and  then  cast  it  off, — not  to  dash  into 
her  fashionable  "  circle  "  again  with  a  splurge  of  colour, 
but  rather  to  glide  into  it  gracefully,  a  vision  of  refine- 
ment, arrayed  in  such  soft  hues  as  may  be  seen  in  some 
rare  picture;  and  she  took  complete  possession  of  it  by 
her  own  unaided  charm.  No  one  could  really  tell  whether 
she  grieved  for  D'Agramont's  death  or  not;  no  one  but 
herself  knew  how  she  had  loved  him, — no  one  guessed 
what  agonies  of  pain  and  shame  she  had  endured  for  his 
sake,  nor  how  she  had  wept  herself  half  blind  with  de- 
spair when  he  died.  All  this  she  shut  up  in  her  own 
heart,  but  the  working  of  the  secret  bitterness  within  her 
had  made  a  great  change  in  her  disposition.  Her  na- 
ture, once  as  loving  and  confiding  as  that  of  a  little  child, 
had  been  so  wronged  in  its  tenderest  fibres  that  now  she 
could  not  love  at  all. 


The  Master-Christian.  201 

"  Why  is  it,"  she  would  ask  herself,  "  that  I  am  totally 
unable  to  care  for  any  living  creature?  That  it  is  in- 
different to  me  whether  I  see  any  person  once,  or  often,  or 
never  ?  Why  are  all  men  like  phantoms,  drifting  past  my 
soul's  immovability?" 

The  answer  to  her  query  would  be,  that  having  loved 
greatly  once  and  been  deceived,  it  was  impossible  to  love 
again.  Some  women, — the  best,  and  therefore  the  unhap- 
piest — are  born  with  this  difficult  temperament. 

Now,  as  she  rode  quietly  along,  sometimes  allowing  her 
horse  to  prance  upon  the  turf  for  the  delight  of  its  dewy 
freshness,  she  was  weaving  quite  a  brilliant  essay  on 
modern  morals  out  of  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  at  the 
Church  of  the  Lorette  that  morning.  She  well  knew 
how  to  use  that  dangerous  weapon,  the  pen, — she  could 
wield  it  like  a  wand  to  waken  tears  or  laughter  with 
equal  ease,  and  since  her  husband's  death  she  had  devoted 
a  great  deal  of  time  to  authorship.  Two  witty  novels, 
published  under  a  nom-de-phime  had  already  startled  the 
world  of  Paris,  and  she  was  busy  with  a  third.  Such 
work  amused  her,  and  distracted  her  from  dwelling  too 
much  on  the  destroyed  illusions  of  the  past.  The  Figaro 
snatched  eagerly  at  everything  she  wrote ;  and  it  was  for 
the  Figaro  that  she  busied  her  brain  now,  considering 
what  she  should  say  of  the  Abbe  Vergniaud's  confession. 

"  It  is  wisest  to  be  a  liar  and  remain  in  the  Church  ?  or 
tell  the  truth  and  go  out  of  the  Church  ?  "  she  mused, 
"  Unfortunately,  if  all  priests  told  the  truth  as  absolutely 
as  the  Abbe  did  this  morning  we  should  have  hardly  any 
of  them  left." 

She  laughed  a  little,  and  stroked  her  horse's  neck  ca- 
ressingly. 

"  Good  Rex !  You  and  your  kind  never  tell  lies ;  and 
yet  you  are  said  to  have  no  souls.  Now  I  wonder  why 
we,  who  are  mean  and  cunning  and  treacherous  and  hypo- 
critical should  have  immortal  souls,  while  horses  and 
dogs  who  are  faithful  and  kind  and  honest  should  be 
supposed  to  have  none." 

Rex  gave  a  gay  little  prance  forward  as  one  who 
should  say,  "  Yes,  but  it  is  only  you  silly  human  beings 
who  suppose  such  nonsense.  We  know  what  we  know ; 
— we  have  our  own  secrets !  " 

"  Xow  the  Church,"  went  on  Loyse  D'Agramont,  pur- 


2O2  The  Master-Christian. 

suing  the  tenor  of  her  thoughts,  "  is  in  a  bad  way  all  over 
the  world.  It  is  possible  that  God  is  offended  with  it. 
It  is  possible,  that  after  nearly  two  thousand  years  of  pa- 
tience He  is  tired  of  having  come  down  to  us  to  teach 
us  the  path  of  Heaven  in  vain.  Something  out  of  the 
common  has  surely  moved  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  to  speak 
as  he  spoke  to-day.  He  was  quite  unlike  himself  and 
beyond  himself;  if  all  our  preachers  were  seized  by  the 
spirit  of  frankness  in  like  manner " 

Here  she  broke  off  for  she  had  arrived  at  Angela 
Sovrani's  door,  and  a  servant  coming  out,  assisted  her  to 
alight,  and  led  her  horse  into  the  courtyard  there  to 
await  her  leisure.  She  was  an  old  friend  of  Angela's 
and  was  accustomed  to  enter  the  house  without  announce- 
ment, but  on  this  occasion  she  hesitated,  and  after  as- 
cending the  first  few  steps  leading  to  the  studio  paused 
and  rang  the  bell.  Angela  herself  answered  the  sum- 
mons. 

"  Loyse !  Is  it  you !  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  "  and  An- 
gela caught  her  by  both  hands, — "  You  cannot  imagine 
the  confusion  and  trouble  we  have  been  in  this  morning !  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  can !  "  answered  the  Princesse  smiling,  as 
she  put  an  arm  round  her  friend's  waist  and  entered  the 
studio,  "  You  have  certainly  had  an  excitement !  What 
of  the  courageous  Abbe  ?  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Here !  "  And  Angela's  eyes  expressed  volumes, — 

"  Here,  with  my  uncle.  They  are  talking  together 

and  that  young  man Cyrillon the  son,  you 

know " 

"  Is  that  his  name  ? — Cyrillon  ?  "  queried  the  Princesse. 

"  Yes, — he  has  been  brought  up  as  a  peasant.  But  he 
is  not  ignorant.  He  has  written  books  and  music,  so  it 
appears — yet  he  still  keeps  to  his  labour  in  the  fields. 
He  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  genius;  another  sort  of  Mae- 
terlinck  " 

"  Oh,  capricious  Destiny !  "  exclaimed  the  Princesse, 
"  The  dear  Abbe  scandalises  the  Church  by  acknowledg- 
ing his  son  to  all  men, — and  lo ! — the  son  he  was  ashamed 
of  all  these  years,  turns  out  a  prodigy !  The  fault  once 
confessed,  brings  a  blessing !  Angela,  there  is  something 
more  than  chance  in  this,  if  we  could  only  fathom  it !  " 

"  This  Cyrillon  is  all  softness  and  penitence  now," 
Angela  went  on,  "  He  is  overcome  with  grief  at  his  mur- 


The  Master-Christian.  203 

derous  attempt, — and  has  asked  his  father's  pardon.  And 
they  are  going  away  together  out  of  Paris  till " 

"  Till  excommunication  is  pronounced,"  said  the 
Princesse,  "  Yes,  I  thought  so !  I  came  here  to  place  my 
Chateau  at  the  Abbe's  disposal.  I  am  myself  going  to 
Rome ;  so  he  and  his  son  can  be  perfectly  at  home  there. 
I  admire  the  man's  courage,  and  above  all  I  admire  his 
truthfulness.  But  I  cannot  understand  why  he  was  at 
such  pains  to  keep  silence  all  these  years,  and  then  to 
declare  his  fault?  He  must  have  decided  on  his  con- 
fession very  suddenly  ?  " 

Angela's  eyes  grew  dark  and  wistful. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  slowly, — then  with  a  sudden 
eagerness  in  her  manner  she  added,  "  Do  you  know, 
Loyse,  I  feel  as  if  some  very  strange  influence  had  crept 
in  among  us!  Pray  do  not  think  me  foolish,  but  I  as- 
sure you  I  have  had  the  most  curious  sensations  since 

my  uncle,  Cardinal  Bonpre  arrived  from  Rouen 

bringing  Manuel " 

"Manuel?  Is  that  the  boy  I  saw  in  the  church  this 
morning?  The  boy  who  threw  himself  as  a  shield  be- 
tween Yerginaud  and  the  flying  shot  ?  Yes  ?  And  do  you 
not  know  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  Xo,"  and  Angela  repeated  the  story  of  the  way  in 
which  Manuel  had  been  found  and  rescued  by  the  Car- 
dinal :  "  You  see,"  she  continued,  "  it  is  not  possible  to 
ask  him  any  questions  since  he  has  declined  to  tell  us 
more  than  we  already  know." 

"  Strange !  "  And  the  Princesse  D'Agramont  knitted 
her  delicate  brows  perplexedly.  "  And  you  have  had  cu- 
rious feelings  since  he  came,  you  say?  What  sort  of 
feelings?" 

"  Well,  you  will  only  laugh  at  me,"  replied  Angela,  her 
cheeks  paling  a  little  as  she  spoke,  "  but  it  really  is  as 
if  some  supernatural  being  were  present  who  could  see 
all  my  inward  thoughts, — and  not  only  mine,  but  the 
thoughts  of  everyone  else.  Someone  too  who  impels  us 
to  do  what  we  have  never  thought  of  doing  before " 

The  Princesse  opened  her  eyes  in  amazement. 

"  My  dear  girl !  You  must  have  been  over-working  to 
get  such  strange  fancies  into  your  head !  There  is  noth- 
ing supernatural  left  to  us  nowadays  except  the  vague 
idea  of  a  God, — and  even  that  we  are  rather  tired  of !  " 


204  The  Master-Christian. 

Angela  trembled  and  grew  paler  than  usual. 

"  Do  not  speak  in  that  way,"  she  urged,  "  The  Abbe 
talked  in  just  such  a  light  fashion  until  the  other  day 
here, — yet  this  morning  I  think — nay,  I  am  sure  he  be- 
lieves in  something  better  than  himself  at  last." 

The  Princesse  was  silent  for  a  minute. 

"  Well,  what  is  to  happen  next  ?  "  she  queried,  "  Ex- 
communication of  course !  All  brave  thinkers  of  every 
time  have  been  excommunicated,  and  many  of  our  great- 
est and  most  valuable  scientific  works  are  on  the  Index 
Expurgatorius.  It  is  my  ambition  to  get  into  that  Index, 
— I  shall  never  rest  till  I  win  the  honour  of  being  beside 
Darwin's  '  Origin  of  Species  ' !  " 

Angela  smiled,  but  her  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 

"  I  hope  the  Abbe  will  go  away  at  once,"  she  said  med- 
itatively, "  But  you  have  no  idea  how  happy  and  at  ease 
he  is !  He  seems  to  be  ready  for  anything." 

"  What  does  Cardinal  Bonp're  think ? "  asked  the 
Princesse. 

"  My  uncle  never  thinks  in  any  way  except  the  way 
of  Christ,"  replied  Angela.  "  He  says,  '  Thy  sins  be  for- 
given thee ;  arise  and  walk ',  to  every  soul  stricken  with 
the  palsy  of  pain  and  repentance.  He  helps  the  fallen; 
he  does  not  strike  them  down  more  heavily." 

"  Ah,  so !  And  is  he  fit  to  be  a  Cardinal  ?  "  queried 
the  Princesse  D'Agramont  dubiously. 

Angela  gave  her  a  quick  look,  but  had  no  time  to  reply 
as  at  that  moment  a  servant  entered  and  announced, 
"  Monsignor  Moretti !  " 

Angela  started  nervously. 

"  Moretti !  "  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  thought  he  had 
left  Paris !  " 

Before  she  had  time  to  say  any  more  the  visitor  him- 
self entered,  a  tall  spare  priest  with  a  dark  narrow  coun- 
tenance of  the  true  Tuscan  type, — a  face  in  which  the 
small  furtive  eyes  twinkled  with  a  peculiarly  hard  bril- 
liancy as  though  they  were  luminous  pebbles.  He  walked 
into  the  room  with  a  kind  of  aggressive  dignity  common 
to  many  Italians,  and  made  a  slight  sign  of  the  cross  in 
air  as  the  two  ladies  saluted  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mesdames,  for  this  intrusion,"  he  said 
in  a  harsh  metallic  voice,  "  But  I  hear  that  the  Abbe 
Vergniaud  is  in  this  house, — and  that  Cardinal  Felix 


The  Master-Christian.  205 

Bonpre  has  received  him  here  since"  (and  he  empha- 
sised the  word  "  since  ")  "  the  shameful  scene  of  this 
morning.  My  business  in  Paris  is  ended  for  the  mo- 
ment ;  and  I  am  returning  to  Italy  to-night, — but  I  wish 
to  know  if  the  Abbe  has  anything  to  say  through  me  to 
His  Holiness  the  Pope  in  extenuation  of  his  conduct 
before  I  perform  the  painful  duty  of  narrating  this  dis- 
tressing affair  at  the  Vatican." 

"  Will  you  see  him  for  yourself,  Monsignor  ?  "  said 
Angela  quietly,  offering  to  lead  the  way  out  of  the  studio, 
"  You  will  no  doubt  obtain  a  more  direct  and  explicit 
answer  from  the  Abbe  personally." 

For  a  moment  Moretti  hesitated.  Princesse  D'Agra- 
mont  saw  his  indecision,  and  her  smile  had  a  touch  of 
malice  in  it  as  she  said, 

"  It  is  a  little  difficult  to  know  how  to  address  the  Abbe 
to-day,  is  it  not,  Monsignor?  For  of  course  he  is  no 
longer  an  Abbe — no  longer  a  priest  of  Holy  Church! 
Helas !  When  anybody  takes  to  telling  the  truth  in  pub- 
lic the  results  are  almost  sure  to  be  calamitous !  " 

Moretti  turned  upon  her  with  swift  asperity. 

"  Madame,  you  are  no  true  daughter  of  the  Church," 
he  said,  "  and  my  calling  forbids  me  to  enter  into  any 
discussion  with  you !  " 

The  Princesse  gave  him  a  charming  upward  glance 
of  her  bright  eyes,  and  curtsied  demurely,  but  he  paid 
no  heed  to  her  obeisance,  and  moving  away,  went  at  once 
with  Angela  towards  the  Cardinal's  apartments.  In  the 
antechamber  he  paused,  hearing  voices. 

"  Is  there  anyone  with  His  Eminence,  besides 
Vergniaud  ?  "  he  asked. 

'  The  Abbe's  son  Cyrillon,"  replied  Angela  timidly. 

Moretti  frowned. 

"  I  will  go  in  alone,"  he  said,  "  You  need  not  announce 
me.  The  Abbe  knows  me  well,  and — "  he  added  with 
a  slight  sneer,  "  he  is  likely  to  know  me  better !  " 

Without  further  words  he  signed  to  Angela  to  retire, 
and  passing  through  the  antechamber,  he  opened  the 
door  of  the  Cardinal's  room  and  entered  abruptly. 


XV. 

THE  Cardinal  was  seated, — he  rose  as  Moretti  ap- 
peared. 

"  I  beg  your  Eminence  to  spare  yourself !  "  said  Moretti 
suavely,  with  a  deep  salutation,  "  And  to  pardon  me  for 
thus  coming  unannounced  into  the  presence  of  one  so 
highly  esteemed  by  the  Holy  Father  as  Cardinal 
Bonpre !  " 

The  Cardinal  gave  a  gesture  of  courteous  deprecation ; 
and  Monsignor  Moretti,  lifting  his,  till  then,  partially  low- 
ered eyelids,  flashed  an  angry  regard  upon  the  Abbe 
Vergniaud,  who  resting  his  back  against  the  book-case 
behind  him,  met  his  glance  with  the  most  perfect  com- 
posure. Close  to  him  stood  his  son  and  would-be  mur- 
derer Cyrillon, — his  dark  handsome  face  rendered  even 
handsomer  by  the  wistful  and  softened  expression  of  his 
eyes,  which  ever  and  anon  rested  upon  his  father  with  a 
look  of  mingled  wonder  and  respect.  There  was  a  brief 
silence — of  a  few  seconds  at  most, — and  then  Moretti 
spoke  again  in  a  voice  which  thrilled  with  pent-up  in- 
dignation, but  which  he  endeavoured  to  render  calm  and 
clear  as  he  addressed  the  Cardinal. 

"  Your  Eminence  is  without  doubt  aware  of  the  cause 
of  my  visit  to  you.  If,  as  I  understand,  your  Eminence 
was  present  at  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  this  morning,  and 
witnessed  the  regrettable  conduct  of  the  faithless  son  of 
the  Church  here  present " 

"  Pardon !  This  is  my  affair,"  interposed  Vergniaud, 
stepping  forward,  "  His  Eminence,  Cardinal  Bonpre,  is 
not  at  all  concerned  in  the  matter  of  the  difficult  dispute 
which  has  arisen  between  me  and  my  own  conscience.' 
You  call  me  faithless,  Monsignor, — will  you  explain  what 
you  mean  by  '  faithless  '  under  these  present  conditions 
of  argument  ?  " 

"  It  shows  the  extent  and  hopelessness  of  your  retro- 
gression from  all  good  that  you  should  presume  to  ask 
such  a  question,"  answered  Moretti,  growing  white  under 


The  Master-Christian.  207 

the  natural  darkness  of  his  skin  with  an  impotency  of 
rage  he  could  scarcely  suppress,  "  Your  sermon  this  morn- 
ing was  an  open  attack  on  the  Church,  and  the  amazing 
scene  at  its  conclusion  is  a  scandal  to  Christianity !  " 

"  The  attacl^  on  the  Church  I  admit,"  said  the  Abbe 
quietly,  "  I  am  not  the  only  preacher  in  the  world  who  has 
so  attacked  it.  Christ  Himself  would  attack  it  if  He  were 
to  visit  this  earth  again !  " 

Moretti  turned  angrily  towards  the  Cardinal. 

"  Your  Eminence  permits  this  blasphemy  to  be  uttered 
in  your  presence  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Nay,  wherever  and  whenever  I  perceive  blasphemy, 
my  son,  I  shall  reprove  it,"  said  the  Cardinal,  fixing  his 
mild  eyes  steadily  on  Moretti's  livid  countenance,  "  I  can- 
not at  present  admit  that  our  unhappy  and  repentant 
brother  here  has  blasphemed.  In  his  address  to  his  con- 
gregation to-day  he  denounced  social  hypocrisy,  and  also 
pointed  out  certain  failings  in  the  Church  which  may 
possibly  need  consideration  and  reform;  but  against  the 
Gospel  of  Christ,  or  against  the  Founder  of  our  Faith 
I  heard  no  word  that  could  be  judged  ill-fitting.  As  for 
the  conclusion  which  so  very  nearly  ended  in  disaster  and 
crime,  there  is  nothing  to  be  said  beyond  the  fact  that 
both  the  persons  concerned  are  profoundly  sorry  for 
their  sins." 

"' Xo  sorrow  can  wipe  out  such  infamy "  began 

Moretti  hotly. 

"  Patience !  Patience,  my  son !  "  and  the  Cardinal 
raised  his  hand  with  a  slight  gesture  of  authority,  "  Surely 
we  must  believe  the  words  of  our  Blessed  Lord,  '  There  is 
more  joy  in  Heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth  than 
over  ninety  and  nine  just  persons  which  have  no  need  of 
repentance ' !" 

"  And  on  this  old  and  well-worn  phrase  you  excuse  a 
confessed  heretic?"  said  Moretti,  with  a  sneer. 

'  This  old  and  well-worn  phrase  is  the  saying  of  our 
Master,"  answered  the  Cardinal  firmly,  "  And  it  is  as 
true  as  the  truth  of  the  sunshine  which,  in  its  old  and 
well-worn  way,  lights  up  this  world  gloriously'  every 
morning!  I  would  stake  my  very  life  on  the  depth  and 
the  truth  of  Vergniaud's  penitence !  .  Who,  seeing  and 
knowing  the  brand  of  disgrace  he  has  voluntarily  burnt 
into  his  own  social  name  and  honour,  could  doubt  his 


2o8  The  Master-Christian. 

sincerity,  or  refuse  to  raise  him  up,  even  as  our  Lord 
would  have  done,  saying,  '  Thy  sins  be  forgiven  thee ! 
Go,  and  sin  no  more ! '  ?  " 

Moretti 's  furtive  eyes  disappeared  for  a  moment 
under  his  discoloured  eyelids,  which  quivered  rapidly  like 
the  throbbings  in  the  throat  of  an  angry  snake.  Before 
he  could  speak  again  however,  Vergniaud  interposed. 

"  Why  trouble  His  Eminence  with  my  crimes  or 
heresies  ?  "  he  said  quietly,  "  I  am  grateful  to  him  from 
my  soul  for  his  gentleness  and  charity  of  judgment — but 
I  need  no  defence — not  even  from  him.  I  am  answerable 
to  God  alone ! — neither  to  Church  nor  Creed !  It  was 
needful  that  I  should  speak  as  I  spoke  to-day— 

"  Needful  to  scandalize  the  Church  ? "  demanded 
Moretti  sharply. 

"  The  Church  is  not  scandalized  by  a  man  who  con- 
fesses himself  an  unworthy  member  of  it !  "  returned 
Vergniaud,  "  It  is  better  to  tell  the  truth  and  go  out  of 
the  Church  than  to  remain  in  it  as  a  liar  and  a  hypocrite." 

"  According  to  your  own  admission  you  have  been  a 
liar  and  a  hypocrite  for  twenty-five  years !  "  said  Mo- 
retti bitterly,  "  You  should  have  made  your  confession 
before,  and  have  made  it  privately.  There  is  something 
unnatural  and  reprehensible  in  the  sudden  blazon  you 
have  made  to  the  public  of  your  gross  immorality." 

"  '  A  sudden  blazon '  you  call  it, — "  said  the  Abbe, 
"  Well,  perhaps  it  is !  But  murder  will  out,  no  matter 
how  long  it  is  kept  in.  You  are  not  entirely  aware  of  my 
position,  Monseigneur.  Have  you  the  patience  to  hear  a 
full  explanation  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  patience  to  hear  because  it  is  my  duty  to 
hear,"  replied  Moretti  frigidly,  "  I  am  bound  to  convey 
the  whole  of  this  matter  to  His  Holiness." 

"  True !  That  is  your  duty,  and  who  shall  say  it  is 
not  also  your  pleasure !  "  and  Vergniaud  smiled  a  little. 
"  Well ! — Convey  to  His  Holiness  the  news  that  I,  Denis 
Vergniaud,  am  a  dying  man,  and  that  knowing  myself 
to  be  in  that  condition,  and  that  two  years  at  the  utmost, 
is  my  extent  of  life  on  this  planet,  I  have  taken  it  seriously 
into  my  head  to  consider  as  to  whether  I  am  fit  to  meet 
death  with  a  clean  conscience.  Death,  Monsignor,  admits 
of  no  lying,  no  politeness,  no  elegant  sophistries !  Now, 
the  more  I  have  considered,  the  more  I  am  aware  of  my 


The  Master-Christian.  209 

total  unfitness  to  confront  whatever  may  be  waiting  for 
me  in  the  Afterwards  of  death — (for  without  doubt  there 
is  an  afterwards,) — and  being  conscious  of  having  done 
at  least  one  grave  injury  to  an  innocent  person,  I  have 
taken  the  best  and  quickest  way  to  make  full  amends.  I 
wronged  a  woman — this  boy's  mother — "  and  he  indi- 
cated with  a  slight  gesture  Cyrillon,  who  had  remained 
a  silent  witness  of  the  scene,  — "  and  the  boy  himself 
from  early  years  set  his  mind  and  his  will  to  avenge  his 
mother's  dishonour.  I — the  chief  actor  in  the  drama, — 
am  thus  responsible  for  a  woman's  misery  and  shame; 
and  am  equally  responsible  for  the  murderous  spirit 
which  has  animated  one,  wrho  without  this  feeling,  would 
have  been  a  promising  fellow  enough.  The  woman  I 
wronged,  alas ! — is  dead,  and  I  cannot  reinstate  her  name, 
save  in  an  open  acknowledgment  of  her  child,  my  son. 
I  do  acknowledge  him, — I  acknowledge  him  in  your  pres- 
ence, and  therefore  virtually  in  the  presence  of  His  Holi- 
ness. I  thus  help  to  remove  the  stigma  I  myself  set  on 
his  name.  Plainly  speaking,  Monsignor,  we  men  have  no 
right  whatever  to  launch  human  beings  into  the  world 
with  the  '  bar  sinister  '  branded  upon  them.  We  have  no 
right,  if  we  follow  Christ,  to  do  anything  that  may  injure 
or  cause  trouble  to  any  other  creature.  We  have  no  right 
to  be  hasty  in  our  judgment,  even  of  sin." 

"  Sin  is  sin, — and  demands  punishment — "  interrupted 
Moretti. 

"  You  quote  the  law  of  Moses,  Monsignor !  I  speak 
with  the  premise  '  if  '.  //  we  follow  Christ ; — if  we  do 
not,  the  matter  is  of  course  different.  We  can  then  twist 
Scripture  to  suit  our  own  purpose.  We  can  organise 
systems  which  are  agreeable  to  our  own  convenience  or 
profit,  but  which  have  nothing  whatever  of  Christ's  Di- 
vine Spirit  of  universal  love  and  compassion  in  them. 
My  action  this  morning  was  unusual  and  quixotic  no 
doubt.  Yet,  it  seemed  to  me  the  only  way  to  comport 
myself  under  those  particular  circumstances.  I  did  a 
wrong — I  seek  to  make  amends.  I  believe  this  is  what 
God  would  have  me  do.  I  believe  that  the  Supernal 
Forces  judge  our  sins  against  each  other  to  be  of  a  far 
worse  nature  than  sins  against  Church  or  Creed.  I  also 
believe  that  if  we  try  to  amend  our  injustices  and  set 
crooked  things  -straight,  death  will  be  an  easier  business, 


2io  The  Master-Christian. 

and  Heaven  will  come  a  little  nearer  to  our  souls.    As  for 
my  attack  on  the  Church " 

"  Ah  truly !  What  of  your  attack  on  the  Church  ?  " 
said  Moretti,  his  small  eyes  glistening,  and  his  breath 
going  and  coming  quickly. 

"  I  would  say  every  word  of  it  again  with  absolute 
conviction,"  declared  Vergniaud,  "  for  I  have  said  noth- 
ing but  the  truth!  There  is  a  movement  in  the  world, 
Monsignor,  that  all  the  powers  of  Rome  are  unable  to 
cope  with ! — the  movement  of  an  advancing  resistless 
force  called  Truth, — the  Voice  of  God, — the  Voice  of 
Christ!  Truth  cannot  be  choked,  murdered  and  killed 
nowadays  as  in  the  early  Inquisition !  Rather  than 
that  the  Voice  of  Truth  should  be  silenced  or  mur- 
dered now  at  this  period  of  time,  God  will  shake  down 
Rome !  " 

"  Not  so !  "  exclaimed  Moretti  hotly — "  Every  nation 
in  the  world   shall  perish  before  Rome  shall  lose  her 
sacred  power !     She  is  the  '  headstone  of  the  corner  '- 
and  '  upon  whomsoever  that  stone  shall  fall,  it  shall  grind 
him  to  powder ! ' : 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  and  Verginaud  shrugged  his  should- 
ers ever  so  slightly — "  Well !  For  me,  I  believe  that  ma- 
terial as  well  as  spiritual  forces  combine  to  fight  against 
long-concealed  sin  and  practised  old  hypocrisies.  It 
would  not  surprise  me  if  the  volcanic  agencies  which 
are  for  ever  at  work  beneath  the  blood-stained  soil  of 
Italy,  were  to  meet  under  the  Eternal  City,  and  in  one 
fell  burst  of  flame  and  thunder  prove  its  temporary  and 
ephemeral  worth !  The  other  day  an  earthquake  shook 
the  walls  of  Rome  and  sent  a  warning  shock  through  St. 
Peter's.  St.  Peter's,  with  its  vast  treasures,  its  gilded 
shrines,  its  locked-up  wealth,  its  magnificence, — a  strange 
contrast  to  Italy  itself! — Italy  with  its  people  ground 
down  under  the  heel  of  a  frightful  taxation,  starving,  and 
in  the  iron  bonds  of  poverty !  '  The  Pope  is  a  prisoner 
and  can  do  nothing  '  ?  Monsignor,  the  Pope  is  a  prisoner 
by  his  own  choice !  If  he  elected  to  walk  abroad  among 
the  people  and  scatter  Peter's  Pence  among  the  sick  and 
needy,  he  would  then  perhaps  be  beginning  to  do  the 
duties  our  Lord  enjoined  on  all  His  disciples !  " 

Moretti  had  stood  immovable  during  this  speech,  his 
dark  face  rigid,  his  eyes  downcast,  listening  to  every 


The  Master-Christian.  211 

word,  but  now  he  raised  his  hand  with  an  authoritative 
gesture. 

"  Enough !  "  he  said,  "  I  will  hear  no  more !  You 
know  the  consequences  of  this  at  the  Vatican  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  You  are  prepared  to  accept  them  ?  " 

"  As  prepared  as  any  of  the  truth-tellers  who  were 
burned  for  the  love  of  Christ  by  the  Inquisition,"  replied 
Vergniaud  deliberately.  "  The  world  is  wide, — there 
is  room  for  me  in  it  outside  the  Church." 

"  One  would  imagine  you  were  bitten  by  the  new 
'  Christian  Democratic  '  craze,"  said  Moretti  with  a  cold 
smile,  "  And  that  you  were  a  reader  and  follower  of  the 
Socialist,  Gys  Grandit !  " 

At  this  name,  Verginaud's  son  Cyrillon  stirred,  and 
lifting  his  dark  handsome  head  turned  his  flashing  eyes 
full  on  the  speaker. 

"Did  you  address  me,  Monsignor?"  he  queried,  in 
a  voice  rich  with  the  musical  inflexions  of  Southern 
France,  "  I  am  Gys  Grandit !  " 

Had  he  fired  another  pistol  shot  in  the  quiet  room  as 
he  had  fired  it  in  the  church,  it  could  hardly  have  created 
a  more  profound  sensation. 

"  You — you — "  stammered  Moretti,  retreating  from 

him  as  from  some  loathsome  abomination,  "  You 

Gys  Grandit !  " 

"  You,  ,  Cyrillon ! — you ! you,  my  son  !  " and 

the  Abbe  almost  lost  breath  in  the  extremity  of  his  amaze- 
ment, while  Cardinal  Bonpre  half  rose  from  his  chair 
doubting  whether  he  had  heard  aright.  Gys  Grandit! — 
the  writer  of  fierce  political  polemics  and  powerful  essays 
that  were  the  life  and  soul,  meat  and  drink  of  all  the 
members  of  the  Christian  Democratic  party ! 

"  Gys  Grandit  is  my  nom-de-plume,"  pursued  the  young 
man,  composedly,  "  I  never  had  any  hope  of  being  ac- 
knowledged as  Cyrillon  Vergniaud,  son  of  my  father, — 
I  had  truly  no  name  and  resolved  to  create  one.  That  is 
the  sole  explanation.  My  history  has  made  me — not 
myself." 

There  was  a  dead  pause.     At  last  Moretti  spoke. 

"  I  have  no  place  here !  "  he  said,  biting  his  lips  hard 
to  keep  them  from  trembling  with  rage,  "  This  house 
which  I  thought  was  the  abode  of  a  true  daughter  of  the 


212  The  Master-Christian. 

Church,  Donna  Sovrani,  is  apparently  for  the  moment  a 
refuge  for  heretics.  And  I  find  these  heretics  kept  in 
countenance  by  Cardinal  Felix  Bonpre,  whose  reputation 
for  justice  and  holiness  should  surely  move  him  to  de- 
nounce them  were  he  not  held  in  check  by  some  malignant 
spirit  of  evil,  which  seems  to  possess  this  atmosphere — 

"  Monsignor  Moretti,"  interposed  the  Cardinal  with 
dignity,  "  it  is  no  part  of  justice  or  holiness  to  denounce 
anything  or  anybody  till  the  full  rights  of  the  case  have 
been  heard.  I  was  as  unaware  as  yourself  that  this  young 
man,  Cyrillon  Vergniaud,  was  the  daring  writer  who  has 
sent  his  assumed  name  of  '  Gys  Grandit '  like  a  flame 
through  Europe.  I  have  read  his  books,  and  cannot  justly 
denounce  them,  because  they  are  expressed  in  the  lan- 
guage of  one  who  is  ardently  and  passionately  seeking 
for  Truth.  Equally,  I  cannot  denounce  the  Abbe,  because 
he  has  confessed  his  sin,  declared  himself  as  he  is,  to  the 
public,  saved  his  son  from  being  a  parricide,  and  has  to 
some  extent  we  trust,  made  his  peace  with  God.  If  you 
can  find  any  point  on  which,  as  a  servant  of  Christ,  I  can 
denounce  these  two  human  beings  who  share  with  me 
the  strange  and  awful  privileges  of  life  and  death,  and 
the  promise  of  an  immortal  hereafter,  I  give  you  leave  to 
do  so.  The  works  of  Gys  Grandit  do  not  blaspheme 
Christ, — they  call,  they  clamour,  they  appeal  for  Christ 
through  all  and  in  all " 

"  And  with  all  this  clamour  and  appeal  their  writer 
is  willing  to  become  a  murderer !  "  said  Moretti  satirically. 

Young  Vergniaud  sprang  forward. 

"  Monsignor,  in  the  name  of  the  Master  you  profess  to 
serve  I  would  advise  you  to  set  a  watch  upon  your 
tongue !  "  he  said,  "  Granted  that  I  was  willing  to  murder 
the  man  who  had  made  my  mother's  life  a  misery,  I  was 
also  willing  to  answer  to  God  for  it !  I  saw  my  mother 
die — "  here  he  gave  a  quick'  glance  towards  the  Abbe 
who  instinctively  shrank  at  his  words,  "  I  shall  pain  you, 
my  father,  by  what  I  say,  but  the  pain  is  perhaps  good 
for  us  both !  I  repeat — I  saw  my  mother  die.  She 
passed  away  uncomforted  after  a  long  life  of  patient 
loneliness  and  sorrow — for  she  was  faithful  to  the  last, 
ever  faithful !  I  have  seen  her  weep  in  the  silence  of  the 
night ! 1  have  heard  her  ever  since  I  was  able  to  un- 
derstand the  sound  of  weeping!  Oh,  those  tears! — Do 


The  Master-Christian.  213 

you  not  think  God  has  seen  them !  She  worked  and 
toiled,  and  starved  herself  to  educate  me, — she  had  no 
friends,  for  sne  had  '  fallen ',  they  said,  and  sometimes 
she  could  get  no  employment,  and  often  we  starved  to- 
gether; and  when  I  thought  of  the  man  who  had  done 
this  thing,  even  as  a  young  boy  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  will 
kill  him ! '  She  did  not  mean,  poor  mother,  to  curse  her 
lover  to  me — but  unconsciously  she  did, — her  sorrow  was 
so  great — her  loneliness  so  bitter !  " 

Moretti  gave  a  gesture  of  impatience  and  contempt. 
Cyrillon  noted  it,  and  his  dark  eyes  flashed,  but  he  went 
on  steadily, — 

"  And  then  I  saw  her  die — she  stretched  her  poor  thin 
hard-working  hands  out  to  God,  and  over  and  over  again 
she  muttered  and  moaned  in  her  fever  the  refrain  of  an 
old  peasant  song  we  have  in  Touraine,  '  Oh,  la  tristesse 
d'avoir  aime ! '  If  you  had  heard  her — if  you  had  seen 
her — if  you  had,  or  have  a  heart  to  feel,  nerves  to  wrench, 
a  brain  to  rack,  blood  to  be  stung  to  frenzy,  you  would, 
— seeing  your  mother  perish  thus, — have  thought,  that 
to  kill  the  man  who  had  made  such  a  wreck  of  a  sweet 
pure  life,  would  be  a  just,  aye  even  a  virtuous  deed !  I 
thought  so.  But  my  intended  vengeance  was  frustrated 
— whether  by  the  act  of  God,  who  can  say  ?  But  the  con- 
duct of  the  man  whom  I  am  now  proud  to  call  my 
father " 

"  You  have  great  cause  for  pride!"  said  Moretti  sar- 
castically. 

"  I  think  I  have  " — said  the  young  man,  "  In  the  close 
extremity  of  death  at  my  hands,  he  won  my  respect.  He 
shall  keep  it.  It  will  be  my  glory  now  to  show  him  what 
a  son's  love  and  pardon  may  be.  If  it  be  true  as  I  un- 
derstand, that  he  is  attacked  by  a  disease  which  needs 
must  be  fatal,  his  last  hours  will  not  be  desolate !  It  may 
be  that  I  shall  give  him  more  comfort  than  Churches, — 
more  confidence  than  Creeds !  It  may  be  that  the  clasp 
of  my  hand  in  his  may  be  a  better  preparation  for  his 
meeting  with  God, — and  my  mother, — than  the  touch  of 
the  Holy  Oils  in  Extreme  Unction !  " 

"  Like  all  your  accursed  sect,  you  blaspheme  the  Sac- 
raments " — interrupted  Moretti  indignantly — "  And  in 
the  very  presence  of  one  of  her  chiefest  Cardinals,  you 
scorn  the  Church !  " 


214  The  Master-Christian. 

Cyrillon  gave  a  quick  gesture  of  emphatic  denial. 

"  Monsignor,  I  do  not  scorn  the  Church, — but  I  think 
that  honesty  and  fair  dealing  with  one  another  is  better 
than  any  Church !  Christ  had  no  Church.  He  built  no 
temples,  He  amassed  no  wealth, — He  preached  simply  to 
those  who  would  hear  Him  under  the  arching  sky, — in 
the  open  air !  He  prophesied  the  fall  of  temples  ;  '  In  this 
place,'  He  said,  '  is  One  greater  than  the  temple.'  *  He 
sought  to  destroy  long  built-up  hypocrisies.  '  My  house 
is  called  the  house  of  prayer,  but  ye  have  made  it  a  den 
of  thieves.'  Thieves,  not  only  of  gold,  but  of  honour ! — 
thieves  of  the  very  Gospel,  which  has  been  tampered  with 
and  twisted  to  suit  the  times,  the  conditions  and  opin- 
ions of  varying  phases  of  priestcraft.  Who  that  has 
read,  and  thought,  and  travelled  and  studied  the  manu- 
scripts hidden  away  in  the  old  monasteries  of  Armenia 
and  Syria,  believes  that  the  Saviour  of  the  world  ever 
condescended  to  '  pun  '  on  the  word  Petrus,  and  say,  '  On 
this  Rock  (or  stone)  I  will  build  my  Church,'  when  He 
already  knew  that  He  had  to  deal  with  a  coward  who 
would  soon  deny  Him?" 

"  Enough !  I  will  hear  no  further !  "  cried  Moretti, 
turning  livid  with  fury — "  Cardinal  Bonpre,  I  appeal  to 
you  .  .  ." 

But  Cyrillon  went  on  unheedingly, — 

"  Beware  of  that  symbol  of  your  Church,  Monsignor ! 
It  is  a  very  strange  one !  It  seems  about  to  be  expanded 
into  a  reality  of  dreadful  earnest !  '  I  know  not  the 
man,'  said  Peter.  Does  not  the  glittering  of  the  world's 
wealth  piled  into  the  Vatican, — useless  wealth  lying  idle 
in  the  midst  of  hideous  beggary  and  starvation, — pro- 
claim with  no  uncertain  voice,  '/  know  not  the  Man'? 
The  Man  of  sorrows, — the  Man  of  tender  and  pitying 
heart, — the  Man  who  could  not  send  the  multitude  away 
without  bread,  and  compassed  a  miracle  to  give  it  to 
them, — the  Man  who  wept  for  a  friend's  death, — who 
took  little  children  in  His  arms  and  blessed  them, — who 
pardoned  the  unhappy  outcast  and  said,  '  Sin  no  more/- 
who was  so  selfless,  so  pure,  so  strong,  so  great,  that 
even  sceptics,  while  denying  His  Divinity,  are  compelled 
to  own  that  His  life  and  His  actions  were  more  Divine 
than  those  of  any  other  creature  in  human  shape  that 

*  Matt.  xii.  v.  6. 


The  Master-Christian.  215 

has  ever  walked  the  earth !  Monsignor,  there  is  no  true 
representative  of  Christ  in  this  world !  " 

"  Not  for  heretics  possibly,"  said  Moretti  disdainfully. 

"  For  no  one !  "  said  Cyrillon  passionately — "  For  no 
poor  sinking,  seeking  soul  is  there  any  such  visible  com- 
forter! But  there  is  a  grand  tendency  in  Mankind  to 
absorb  His  Spirit  and  His  teaching ; — to  turn  from  forms 
and  shadows  of  faith  to  the  Faith  itself,— from  descrip- 
tions of  a  possible  heaven  to  the  real  Heaven,  which  is 
being  disclosed  to  us  in  transcendent  glimpses  through 
the  jewel-gates  of  science!  There  were  twelve  gates  in 
the  visioned  heaven  of  St.  John, — and  each  gate  was 
composed  of  one  pearl !  Truly  do  the  scoffers  say  that 
never  did  any  planetary  sea  provide  such  pearls  as  these ! 
No, — for  they  were  but  prophetic  emblems  of  the  then 
undiscovered  Sciences.  Ah,  Monsignor! — and  what  of 
the  psychic  senses  and  forces? — forces  which  we  are  just 
beginning  to  discover  and  to  use, — forces  which  enable 
me  to  read  your  mind  at  this  present  moment  and  to  see 
how  willingly  you  would  send  me  to  the  burning,  Chris- 
tian as  you  call  yourself,  for  my  thoughts  and  opinions ! 
— as  your  long-ago  predecessors  did  with  all  men  who 
dared  to  reason  for  themselves!  But  that  time  has 
passed,  Monsignor;  the  Spirit  of  Christ  in  the  world  has 
conquered  the  Church  there!" 

The  words  rushed  from  his  lips  with  a  fervid  eloquence 
that  was  absolutely  startling, — his  eyes  were  aglow  with 
feeling — his  face  so  animated  and  inspired,  that  it 
seemed  as  though  a  flame  behind  it  illumined  every  fea- 
ture. Abbe  Vergniaud,  astonished  and  overcome,  laid 
a  trembling  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  passionate  speaker 
with  a  gesture  more  of  appeal  than  restraint,  and  the 
young  man  caught  that  hand  within  his  own  and  held  it 
fast.  Moretti  for  a  moment  fixed  his  eyes  upon  father 
and  son  with  an  expression  of  intense  hatred  that 
darkened  his  face  with  a  deep  shadow  as  of  a  black  mask, 
— and  then  without  a  word  deliberately  turned  his  back 
upon  both. 

"  Your  Eminence  has  heard  all  this."  he  said  coldly, 
addressing  the  Cardinal  who  sat  rigidly  in  his  chair, 
silent  and  very  pale. 

"  I  have,"  replied  Bonpre  in  a  low  strained  tone. 

"And  I  presume  your  Eminence  permits ?" 


2i6  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Why  talk  of  permission  ?  "  interrupted  the  Cardinal, 
raising  his  eyes  with  a  sorrowful  look,  "  Who  is  to  per- 
mit or  deny  freedom  of  speech  in  these  days?  Have  I 
— have  you — the  right  to  declare  that  a  man  shall  not  ex- 
press his  thoughts?  In  what  way  are  we  to  act?  Deny 
a  hearing?  We  cannot — we  dare  not — not  if  we  obey 
our  Lord,  who  says,  '  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men 
should  do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them.'  If  we  ask 
for  ourselves  to  be  heard,  we  must  also  hear." 

"  We  may  hear — but  in  such  a  case  as  the  present  one 
must  we  not  also  condemn  ?  "  demanded  Moretti,  watch- 
ing the  venerable  prelate  narrowly. 

"  We  can  only  condemn  in  the  case  of  a  great  sin,"  re- 
plied Bonpre  gently,  "  and  even  then  our  condemnation 
must  be  passed  with  fear  and  trembling,  and  with  full 
knowledge  of  all  the  facts  pertaining  to  the  error. 
'  Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged.'  We  are  told  plainly 
that  our  brother  may  sin  agamst  us  not  only  seven  times 
but  seventy  times  seven,  and  still  we  are  bound  to  for- 
give, to  sustain,  to  help,  and  not  to  trample  down  the 
already  fallen." 

'  These  are  your  Eminence's  opinions  ?  "  said  Moretti. 

"  Most  assuredly !     Are  they  not  yours  ?  " 

Moretti  smiled  coldly. 

"  No.  I  confess  they  are  not !  I  am  a  faithful  serv- 
ant of  the  Church ;  and  the  Church  is  a  system  of  moral 
government  in  which,  if  the  slightest  laxity  be  permitted, 
the  whole  fabric  is  in  danger " 

"  A  house  of  cards  then,  which  a  breath  may  blow 
down !  "  interposed  "  Gys  Grandit,"  otherwise  Cyrillon 
Vergniaud,  "  Surely  an  unstable  foundation  for  the  ever- 
lasting ethics  of  Christ !  " 

"  I  did  not  speak  to  you,  sir,"  said  Moretti,  turning 
upon  him  angrily. 

"  I  know  you  did  not.  I  spoke  to  you,"  answered  the 
young  man  coolly,  "  I  have  as  much  right  to  speak  to  you, 
as  you  have  to  speak  to  me,  or  to  be  silent — if  you  choose. 
You  say  the  Church  is  a  system  of  moral  government. 
Well  look  back  on  the  past,  and  see  what  it  has  done  in 
the  way  of  governing.  In  the  very  earliest  days  of  Chris- 
tianity, when  men  were  simple  and  sincere,  when  their 
faith  in  the  power  of  the  Divine  things  was  strong  and 
pure,  the  Church  was  indeed  a  safeguard,  and  a  powerful 


The  Master-Christian.  217 

restraint  on  man's  uneducated  licentiousness  and  in- 
herent love  of  strife.  But  when  the  lust  of  gain  began 
to  creep  like  a  fever  into  the  blood  of  those  with  whom 
worldly  riches  should  be  as  nothing  compared  to  the 
riches  of  the  mind,  the  heart,  and  the  spirit,  then  the  dry- 
rot  of  hypocrisy  set  in — then  came  craftiness,  cruelty,  in- 
justice, and  pitilessness,  and  such  grossness  of  personal 
conduct  as  revolts  even  the  soul  of  an  admitted  sinner. 
Moral  government?  Where  is  it  to  day?  Look  at 
France — Italy — Spain  !  Count  up  the  lies  told  by  the 
priests  in  these  countries  to  feed  the  follies  of  the  igno- 
rant !  Did  Christ  ever  tell  lies  ?  No.  Then  why,  if  you 
are  His  follower,  do  you  tell  them  ?  " 

"  I  repeat,  I  did  not  speak  to  you,"  said  Moretti,  his 
eyes  sparkling  with  fury, — "  To  me  you  are  a  heretic,  ac- 
cursed, and  excommunicate ! — thrust  out  of  salvation, 
and  beyond  my  province  to  deal  with !  " 

"  Oh,  that  a  man  should  be  thrust  out  of  salvation  in 
these  Christian  days !  "  exclaimed  Cyrillon  with  a  flash- 
ing look  of  scorn,  "  And  that  he  should  find  a  servant  of 
Christ  to  tell  him  so !  Accursed  and  excommunicate ! 
Then  I  am  a  kind  of  leper  in  the  social  community ! 
And  you,  as  a  disciple  of  your  Master,  should  heal  me  of 
my  infirmity — and  cleanse  me  of  my  leprosy!  Loath- 
some as  leprosy  is  whether  of  mind  or  body,  Christ  never 
thrust  it  out  of  salvation !  " 

'  The  leper  must  wish  to  be  cleansed !  "  said  Moretti 
fiercely,  "  If  he  does  not  himself  seek  to  be  healed  of  his 
evil,  no  miracle  can  help  him." 

"  Oh  but  I  do  seek !  "  And  young  Vergniaud  threw 
back  his  handsome  head  with  a  splendid  gesture  of  ap- 
peal, "  With  all  my  soul,  if  I  am  diseased,  I  wish  to  be 
cleansed !  Will  you  ^cleanse  me  ?  Can  you  ?  I  wish  to 
stand  up  whole  and  pure,  face  to  face  with  the  Divine  in 
this  world,  and  praise  Him  for  His  goodness  to  me. 
But  surely  if  He  is  to  be  found  anywhere  it  is  in  the 
Spirit  of  Truth !  Not  in  any  sort  of  a  lie !  Now,  ac- 
cording to  His  own  words  the  Holy  Ghost  is  the  Spirit 
of  Truth.  '  When  the  Spirit  of  Truth  is  come  He  will 
guide  you  into  all  Truth.'  And  what  then?  Mon- 
signor,  it  is  somewhat  dangerous  to  oppose  the  Spirit  of 
Truth,  whether  that  Force  speak  through  the  innocent 
lips  of  a  child  or  the  diseased  ones  of  a  leper !  '  For 


218  The  Master-Christian. 

whosoever  speaketh  a  word  against  the  Son  of  Man  it 
shall  be  forgiven  him,  but  whosoever  speaketh  against  the 
Holy  Ghost ' — or  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  known  sometimes 
as  Inspiration  ..."  it  shall  not  be  forgiven  him  in  this 
world,  neither  in  the  world  to  come.'  That  is  a  terrible 
curse,  which  an  ocean  of  Holy  Water  could  scarcely  wash 
away !  " 

"  Your  argument  is  wide  of  the  mark,"  said  Moretti, 
impatiently,  yet  forced  in  spite  of  himself  to  defend  his 
position,  "  the  Church  is  not  opposed  to  Truth  but  to 
Atheism." 

"  Atheism !  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  real  atheist  in 
the  world !  "  declared  Cyrillon  passionately,  "  No  reason- 
ing human  being  alive,  that  has  not  felt  the  impress  of 
the  Divine  Image  in  himself  and  in  all  the  universe 
around  him !  He  may,  through  apathy  and  the  false- 
hoods of  priestcraft,  have  descended  into  callousness,  in- 
difference and  egotism,  but  he  knows  well  that  that  im- 
press cannot  be  stamped  out — that  he  will  have  to  ac- 
count for  his  part,  however  small  it  be,  in  the  magnificent 
pageant  of  life  and  work,  for  he  has  not  been  sent  into  it 
'  on  chance.'  Inasmuch  as  if  there  is  chance  in  one 
thing  there  must  be  chance  in  another,  and  the  solar  sys- 
tem is  too  mathematically  designed  to  be  a  haphazard  ar- 
rangement. With  all  our  cleverness,  our  logic,  our  geo- 
metrical skill,  we  can  do  nothing  so  exact !  As  part  of 
the  solar  system,  you  and  I  have  our  trifling  business  to 
enact,  Monsignor, — and  to  enact  it  properly,  and  with 
satisfaction  to  our  Supreme  Employer,  it  seems  to  me 
that  if  we  are  honest  with  the  world  and  with  each  other, 
we  shall  be  on  the  right  road." 

"  For  my  part,  I  am  perfectly  honest  with  you,"  said 
Moretti  smiling  darkly,  "  I  told  you,  and  I  tell  you  again, 
that  to  me  you  are  a  heretic,  accursed  and  excommuni- 
cate. You  will,  as  the  democrat  '  Gys  Grandit/  no  doubt 
feel  a  peculiar  pleasure  when  your  father  is  also  declared 
accursed  and  excommunicate.  I  have  said,  and  I  say 
again,  that  the  Church  is  a  system  of  moral  government, 
and  that  no  laxity  can  be  permitted.  It  is  a  system 
founded  on  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord,  but  to  obey  the  com- 
mands of  our  Lord  to  the  letter  we  should  have  to  find 
another  world  to  live  in " 

"  Pardon    me — I    ask    for    information,"    interposed 


The  Master-Christian.  219 

Cyrillon,  "  You  of  course  maintain  that  Christ  was  God 
in  Man  ?  " 

"  Most  absolutely !  " 

"And  yet  you  say  that  to  obey  His  commands  to  the 
letter  \ve  should  have  to  find  another  world  to  live  in ! 
Strange !  Since  He  made  the  world  and  knows  all  our 
capabilities  of  progress !  But  have  you  never  fancied  it 
possible  that  we  may  be  forced  to  obey  His  commands 
to  the  letter,  or  perish  for  refusing  to  do  so?  " 

Moretti  made  as  though  he  would  have  sprung  for- 
ward,— his  face  was  drawn  and  rigid,  his  lips  tightly 
compressed,  but  he  had  no  answer  to  this  unanswerable 
logic.  He  therefore  took  refuge  in  turning  brusquely 
away  as  before  and  was  about  to  address  himself  to 
Bonpre,  but  stopped  short,  as  he  perceived  Manuel,  who 
had  entered  while  the  conversation  was  going  on,  and 
who  now  stood  quietly  by  the  Cardinal's  chair  in  an  at- 
titude of  composed  attention.  Moretti  glanced  at  him 
with  a  vexed  sense  of  irritation  and  reluctant  wonder; 
— then  moistening  his  dry  lips  he  began, 

"  I  am  bound  to  regret  deeply  that  your  Eminence  has 
allowed  this  painful  discussion  to  take  place  in  your- 
presence  without  reproof.  But  I  presume  you  are  aware 
of  the  responsibility  incurred  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  slowly  inclined  his  head  in  grave  assent. 

"  In  relating  the  scene  of  to-day  to  His  Holiness,  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  mention  the  attitude  you  have  main- 
tained throughout  the  conversation." 

"  You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  do  so,  my  son,"  said 
Bonpre  with  unruffled  gentleness. 

Moretti  hesitated.     His  eyes  again  rested  on  Manuel. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said  suddenly  and  irrelevantly, 
"This  boy  .  .  ." 

"  Is  a  foundling,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  He  stays  with 
me  till  I  can  place  him  well  in  the  world.  He  has  no 
friends." 

"  He  took  some  part  in  the  affair  of  this  morning,  I  be- 
lieve?'' queried  Moretti,  with  a  doubtful  air. 

"  He  saved  my  life,"  said  Abbe  Vergniaud  advancing, 
"  It  was  not  particularly  worth  saving — but  he  did  it. 
And  I  owe  him  much — for  in  saving  me,  he  also  saved 
Cyrillon  from  something  worse  than  death." 

"  Naturally  you  must  be  very  grateful,"  retorted  Mo- 


22O  The  Master-Christian. 

retti  satirically,  "  The  affection  of  a  son  you  have  denied 
for  twenty-five  years  must  be  exceedingly  gratifying  to 
you !  "  He  paused — then  said,  "  Does  this  boy  belong 
to  the  Church  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Manuel,  answering  for  himself,  "  I  have 
no  Church." 

"  No  Church !  "  exclaimed  Moretti,  "  His  Eminence 
must  educate  you,  boy.  You  must  be  received." 

"  Yes,"  said  Manuel,  raising  his  eyes,  and  fixing  them 
full  on  Moretti,  "  I  must  be  received !  I  need  educa- 
tion to  understand  the  Church.  And  so, — for  me  to  be 
received  might  be  difficult !  " 


XVI. 

As  he  thus  spoke,  slowly  and  with  an  exquisite  soft- 
ness, something  in  his  voice,  manner,  or  words  aroused 
a  sudden  and  violent  antipathy  in  Moretti's  mind.  He 
became  curiously  annoyed,  without  any  possible  cause, 
and  out  of  his  annoyance  answered  roughly. 

"  Ignorance  is  always  difficult  to  deal  with,"  he  said, 
"  But  if  it  is  not  accompanied  by  self-will  or  obstinacy — 
(and  boys  of  your  age  are  apt  to  be  self-willed  and  ob- 
stinate)— then  much  can  be  done.  The  Church  has  in- 
finite patience  even  with  refractory  sinners." 

"  Has  it  ?  "  asked  Manuel  simply,  and  his  clear  eyes, 
turning  slowly  towards  Vergniaud  and  his  son,  rested 
there  a  moment,  and  then  came  back  to  fix  the  same  steady 
look  upon  Moretti's  face.  Not  another  word  did  he 
say, — but  Moretti  flushed  darkly,  and  anon  grew  very 
pale.  Restraining  his  emotions  however  by  an  effort,  he 
addressed  himself  with  cold  formalitv  once  more  to  the 
Abbe. 

"  You  have  no  explanation  then  to  offer  to  His  Holi- 
ness, beyond  what  you  have  already  said  ?  " 

"  None  !  "  replied  Vergniaud  steadily.  "  The  reasons 
for  my  conduct  I  think  are  sufficiently  vital  and  earnest 
to  be  easily  understood." 

"  And  your  Eminence  has  nothing  more  to  say  on  this 
matter?"  pursued  Moretti,  turning  to  the  Cardinal. 

"  Nothing,  my  son !  But  I  would  urge  that  the  Holy 
Father  should  extend  his  pardon  to  the  offenders,  the 
more  so  as  one  of  them  is  on  the  verge  of  that  land  where 
we  '  go  hence  and  are  no  more  seen.' ': 

Moretti's  eyelids  quivered,  and  his  lips  drew  'together 
in  a  hard  and  cruel  line. 

"  I  will  assuredly  represent  your  wishes  to  His  Holi- 
ness," he  replied,  "  But  I  doubt  whether  they  will  meet 
with  so  much  approval  as  surprise  and  regret.  I  have  the 
honour  to  wish  your  Eminence  farewell !  " 


222  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Farewell,  my  son !  "  said  the  Cardinal  mildly,  "  Ben- 
edicite ! " 

Moretti  bent  down,  as  custom  forced  him  to  do,  under 
the  gently  uttered  blessing,  and  the  extended  thin  white 
hand  that  signed  the  cross  above  him.  Then  with  a  fur- 
tive under-glance  at  Manuel,  whose  quiet  and  contempla- 
tive observation  of  him  greatly  vexed  and  disturbed  his 
composure,  he  left  the  room. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Then  Abbe  Vergniaud, 
somewhat  hesitatingly,  approached  Bonpre. 

"  I  much  fear,  my  dear  friend,  that  all  this  means  un- 
pleasantness for  you  at  the  Vatican,"  he  said,  "  And  I 
sincerely  grieve  to  be  the  means  of  bringing  you  into 
any  trouble." 

"  Nay,  there  should  be  no  trouble,"  said  Bonpre 
quietly,  "  Nothing  has  happened  which  should  really 
cause  me  any  perplexity — on  the  contrary,  events  have 
arranged  themselves  so  that  there  shall  be  no  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  speaking  my  mind.  I  have  journeyed  far 
from  my  diocese  to  study  and  to  discover  for  myself  the 
various  phases  of  opinion  on  religious  matters  in  these 
days,  and  I  am  steadily  learning  much  as  I  go.  I  regret 
nothing,  and  would  have  nothing  altered, — for  I  am  per- 
fectly confident  that  in  all  the  things  I  meet,  or  may  have 
to  consider,  my  Master  is  my  Guide.  All  is  well  wher- 
ever we  hear  His  Voice ; — all  things  work  for  the  best 
when  we  are  able  to  perceive  His  command  clearly,  and 
have  strength  and  resolution  enough  to  forsake  our  sins 
and  follow  Him." 

As  he  spoke,  a  tranquil  smile  brightened  his  venerable 
features,  and  seeing  the  fine  small  hand  of  Manuel  rest- 
ing on  his  chair,  he  laid  his  own  wrinkled  palm  over  it 
and  clasped  it  tenderly.  Cyrillon  Vergniaud,  moved  by 
a  quick  impulse,  suddenly  advanced  towards  him. 

"  Monseigneur,"  he  said,  with  unaffected  deference, 
"  You  are  much  more  than  a  Cardinal, — you  are  a  good 
and  honest  man!  And  that  you  serve  Christ  purely  is 
plainly  evidenced  in  your  look  and  bearing.  Do  me  one 
favour !  Extend  your  pardon  to  me  for  my  almost  com- 
mitted crime  of  to-day, — and  give  me  your  blessing!  I 
will  try  to  be  worthy  of  it !  " 

The  Cardinal  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes  looking  at 
him  earnestly. 


The  Master-Christian.  223 

"  My  blessing  is  of  small  value,"  he  said,  "  And  yet 
I  do  not  think  you  would  ask  it  for  mere  mockery  of  an 

old  man's  faith.  I  should  like, "  here  he  paused — • 

then  slowly  went  on  again,"  I  should  like  to  say  a  few 
words  to  you  if  I  might — to  ask  you  one  or  two  questions 
concerning  yourself " 

"  Ask  anything  you  please,  Monseigneur,"  replied 
Cyrillon,  "  I  will  answer  you  frankly  and  fully.  I  have 
never  had  any  mysteries  in  my  life  save  one, — that  of 
my  birth,  which  up  till  to  day  was  a  stigma  and  a  draw- 
back ; — but  now,  I  feel  I  may  be  proud  of  my  father.  A 
man  who  sacrifices  his  entire  social  reputation  and  posi- 
tion to  make  amends  for  a  wrong  done  to  the  innocent 
is  worthy  of  honour." 

"  I  grant  it !  "  sai«l  the  Cardinal,  "  But  you  yourself — 
why  have  you  made  a  name  which  is  like  a  firebrand  to 
start  a  conflagration  of  discord  in  Europe? — why  do  you 
use  your  gifts  of  language  and  expression  to  awaken  a 
national  danger  which  even  the  strongest  Government 
may  find  itself  unable  to  stand  against?  I  do  not  blame 
you  till  I  hear, — till  I  know  ; — but  your  writings, — your 
appeals  for  truth  in  all  things, — are  like  loud  clarion 
blasts  which  may  awaken  more  evil  than  good." 

"  Monseigneur,  the  evil  is  not  of  my  making, — it  ex- 
ists !  "  replied  Cyrillon,  "  My  name,  my  writings, — are 
only  as  a  spark  from  the  huge  smouldering  fire  of  re- 
ligious discontent  in  the  world.  If  it  were  not  my  name 
it  would  be  another's.  If  /  did  not  write  or  speak,  some- 
one else  would  write  and  speak — perhaps  better — perhaps 
not  so  well.  At  any  rate  I  am  sincere  in  my  convictions, 
and  write  from  the  fulness  of  the  heart.  I  do  not  care 
for  money — I  make  none  at  all  by  literature, — but  I 
earn  enough  by  my  labour  in  the  fields  to  keep  me  in 
food  and  lodging.  I  have  no  desire  for  fame, — except 
in  so  far  as  my  name  may  serve  as  an  encouragement  and 
help  to  others.  If  you  care  to  hear  my  story " 

"  I  should  appreciate  your  confidence  greatly,"  said  the 
Cardinal  earnestly,  "  The  Fates  have  made  you  a  lead- 
ing spirit  of  the  time, — it  would  interest  me  to  know 
your  thoughts  and  theories.  But  if  you  would  prefer 
not  to  speak "  « 

"  I  generally  prefer  not  to  speak,"  replied  Cyrillon, 
"  But  to-day  is  one  of  open  confession, — and  I  think  too 


224  The  Master-Christian. 

that  it  is  sometimes  advisable  for  men  of  the  Church  to 
understand  and  enter  into  the  minds  of  those  who  are 
outside  the  Church, — who  will  have  no  Church, — not 
from  disobedience  or  insubordination,  but  simply  because 
they  do  not  find  God  or  Christ  in  that  institution  as  it  at 
present  exists.  And  nowadays  we  are  seeking  for  God 
strenuously  and  passionately !  We  have  found  Him  too 
in  places  where  the  Church  assured  us  He  was  not  and 
could  not  be." 

"  Is  there  any  portion  of  life  where  God  is  not?  "  asked 
Manuel  gently. 

Cyrillon's  dark  eyes  softened  as  he  met  the  boy's 
glance. 

"  No,  dear  child ! — truly  there  is  not, — but  the  priests 
do  nothing  to  maintain  or  to  protfe  that,"  he  replied ; 
"  and  the  more  the  world  lifts  itself  higher  and  higher 
into  the  light,  the  more  we  shall  perceive  God,  and  the 
less  we  will  permit  anything  to  intervene  between  our- 
selves and  Him.  But  you  are  too  young  to  under- 
stand  " 

"  No,  not  at  all  too  young  to  understand !  "  answered 
Manuel,  "  Not  at  all  too  young  to  understand  that  God 
is  love,  and  pardon,  and  patience; — and  that  whereso- 
ever men  are  intolerant,  uncharitable,  and  bigoted,  there 
they  straightway  depart  from  God  and  know  Him  not  at 
all." 

"  Truly  that  is  how  I  understand  Christianity,"  said 
Cyrillon,  "  But  for  so  simple  and  plain  a  perception  of 
duty  one  is  called  atheist  and  socialist,  and  one's  opinions 
are  branded  as  dangerous  to  the  community.  Truth  is 
dangerous,  I  know — but  why  ?  " 

"  Would  that  not  take  a  century  to  explain  ?  "  said  the 
silvery  voice  of  the  Princesse  D'Agramont,  who  entered 
with  Angela  at  that  moment,  and  made  her  deep  obeisance 
before  the  Cardinal,  glancing  inquisitively  as  she  did  so 
at  Manuel  who  still  stood  resting  against  the  prelate's 
chair,  "  Pardon  our  abrupt  appearance,  Monseigneur,  but 
Angela  and  I  are  moved  by  the  spirit  of  curiosity ! — and 
if  we  are  swept  out  of  the  Church  like  straws  before  the 
wind  for  our  impertinence,  we  care  not!  Monsignor 
Moretti  has  just  left  the  house*  wrapt  up  in  his  wrath  like 
a  bird  of  prey  in  a  thunder-cloud,  muttering  menaces 
against  '  Gys  Grandit '  the  Socialist  writer.  Now  what 


The  Master-Christian.  225 

in  the  world  has  Gys  Grandit  to  do  with  him  or  with  us? 
Saint,  cher  Abbe!  " — and  she  gave  Vergniaud  her  hand 
with  charming  friendliness ;  "  I  came  here  really  to  see 
you,  and  place  the  Chateau  D'Agramont  at  your  disposal, 
while  I  am  away  passing  the  winter  in  Italy.  Pray  make 
yourself  at  home  there — and  your  son  also  .  .  ." 

"  Madame,"  said  the  Abbe,  profoundly  touched  by 
the  sincerity  of  her  manner,  and  by  the  evident  cordiality 
of  her  intention,  "  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for  your 
friendship  at  this  moment  when  friendship  is  most 
needed !  But  I  feel  I  ought  not  to  cast  the  shadow  of  my 

presence  on  your  house  under  such  circumstances and 

as  for  my  son it  would  certainly  be  unwise  for  you 

to  extend  your 'gracious  hospitality  to  him  ...  he  is  my 

son yes    truly ! — and    I    acknowledge    him    as    such ; 

but  he  is  also  another  person  of  his  own  making 

Gys  Grandit !  " 

Angela  Sovrani  gave  a  slight  cry,  and  a  wave  of  colour 
flushed  her  face, — the  Princesse  stood  amazed. 

"  Gys  Grandit !  "  she  echoed  in  a  low  tone,  "  And 
Vergniaud's  son!  Grand  Dieu!  Is  it  possible!  "  Then 
advancing,  she  extended  both  her  hands  to  Cyril- 
Ion,  "  Monsieur,  accept  my  homage !  You  have  a  su- 
preme genius, — and  with  it  you  command  more  than  one- 
half  of  the  thoughts  of  France !  " 

Cyrillon  took  her  hands, — lightly  pressed,  and  re- 
leased them. 

"  Madame,  you  are  too  generous !  " 

But  even  while  he  exchanged  these  courtesies  with  her, 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Angela  Sovrani,  who,  moving 
close  to  her  uncle's  chair,  had  folded  her  hands  upon  its 
sculptured  edge  and  now  stood  beside  it,  a  graceful 
nymph-like  figure  of  statuesque  repose.  But  her  breath 
came  and  went  quickly,  and  her  face  was  very  pale. 

"  No  wonder  Monsignor  Moretti  was  so  exceedingly 
angry/'  resumed  the  Princesse  D'Agramont  with  a  smile, 
"  I  understand  the  position  now.  It  is  a  truly  remarkable 
one.  Monseigneur,"  this  with  a  profound  reverence  to 
the  Cardinal,  "  you  have  found  it  difficult  to  be  umpire  in 
the  discussion." 

'  The  discussion  was  not  mine,"  said  the  Cardinal 
s'owly,  "  But  the  cause  of  the  trouble  is  a  point  which 
affects  many, — and  I  am  one  of  those  who  desire  to  hear 


226  The  Master-Christian. 

all  before  I  presume  to  judge  one.  I  have  asked  the 
son  of  my  old  friend  Vergniaud  to  tell  me  what  led  him 
to  make  his  assumed  name  one  of  such  terror  and  con- 
fusion in  the  world ;  he  is  but  six-and-twenty,  and 
yet  .  .  ." 

"  And  yet  people  talk  much  of  me  you  would  say,  Mon- 
seigneur,"  said  Cyrillon,  a  touch  of  scorn  lighting  up  his 
fine  eyes,  "  True,  and  it  is  easy  to  be  talked  of.  That  is 
nothing.  I  do  not  wish  for  that,  except  in  so  far  as  it 
helps  me  to  attain  my  ambition." 

"  And  that  ambition  is  ?  "  queried  the  Princesse. 

"  To  lead !  "  answered  Cyrillon  with  a  passionate  ges- 
ture, "  To  gather  the  straying  thoughts  of  men  into  one 
burning  focus — and  turn  that  fire  on  the  world !  " 

They  were  all  silent  for  a  minute — then  the  Princesse 
D'Agramont  spoke  again — 

"  But Pardon  me !  Then  you  were  about  to  de- 
stroy all  your  own  chances  of  the  future  in  your  wild 
impulse  of  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Madame,  it  was  no  wild  impulse !  When  a  man 
takes  an  oath  by  the  side  of  a  dead  woman,  and  that  wo- 
man his  mother,  he  generally  means  to  keep  it!  And  I 
most  resolutely  meant  to  kill  my  father  and  make  of  my- 
self a  parricide.  But  I  considered  my  mother  had  been 
murdered  too — socially  and  morally — and  I  judged  my 
vengeance  just.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  boy  there — 
and  he  glanced  at  Manuel,  "  I  should  certainly  have  ful- 
filled my  intention." 

"  And  then  there  would  have  been  no  Abbe  Vergniaud, 
and  no  '  Gys  Grandit,'  "  said  the  Princesse  lightly,  en- 
deavouring to  change  the  sombre  tone  of  the  conversa- 
tion,—  "  and  the  '  Christian  Democratic '  party  would 
have  been  in  sackcloth  and  ashes !  " 

"  The  Christian  Democratic  party !  "  echoed  the  Car- 
dinal, "  What  do  they  mean?  What  do  they  want?  " 

"  Christianity,  Monseigneur !  That  is  all !  "  replied 
Cyrillon,  "  All — but  so  much !  You  asked  me  for  my 
history — will  you  hear  it  now  ?  " 

There  was  an  immediate  murmur  of  assent,  and  the 
group  around  Cardinal  Bonpre  were  soon  seated — all 
save  Manuel,  who  remained  standing.  Angela  sat  on  a 
cushion  at  her  uncle's  feet,  and  her  deep  violet  eyes  were 
full  of  an  eager,  almost  feverish  interest  which  she  could 


The  Master-Christian.  227 

scarcely  conceal ;  and  the  Abbe  Vergniaud,  vitally  and 
painfully  concerned  as  he  was  in  the  narrative  about  to 
be  told,  could  not  help  looking  at  her,  and  wondering  at 
the  extraordinary  light  and  beauty  of  her  face  thus 
transfigured  by  an  excitation  of  thought.  Was  she  a 
secret  follower  of  his  son's  theories,  he  wondered?  Com- 
posing himself  in  his  chair,  he  sat  with  bent  head,  marvel- 
ling as  he  heard  the  story  of  the  bold  and  fearless  and 
philosophic  life  that  had  sprung  into  the  world  all  out 
of  his  summer's  romance  with  a  little  innocent  girl,  whom 
he  had  found  praying  to  her  guardian  angel. 

"  It  is  not  always  ourselves,"  began  Cyrillon  in  his 
slow,  emphatic,  yet  musical  voice,  "  who  are  responsible 
for  the  good  or  the  evil  we  may  do  in  our  lives.  Much 
of  our  character  is  formed  by  the  earliest  impressions  of 
childhood — and  my  earliest  impressions  were  those  of 
sorrow.  I  started  life  with  the  pulse  of  my  mother's 
broken  heart  beating  in  me, — hence  my  thoughts  were 
sombre,  and  of  an  altogether  unnatural  character  to  a 
child  of  tender  years.  We  lived — my  motherland  I — in 
a  small  cottage  on  the  edge  of  a  meadow  outside  the 
quaint  old  city  of  Tours — a  meadow,  full  at  all  seasons, 
of  the  loveliest  wild  flowers,  but  sweetest  in  the  spring- 
time when  the  narcissi  bloomed,  lifting  their  thousand 
cups  of  sweet  perfume  like  incense  to  the  sky.  I  used 
to  sit  among  their  cool  green  stems, — thinking  many 
thoughts,  chief  among  which  was  a  wonder  why  God  had 
made  my  little  mother  so  unhappy.  I  heard  afterwards 
that  God  was  not  to  blame, — only  man,  breaking  God's 
laws  of  equity.  She  was  a  good  brave  woman,  for  de- 
spite her  loneliness  and  tears,  she  worked  hard ; — worked 
to  send  me  to  school,  and  to  teach  me  all  she  herself  knew 
— which  was  little  enough,  poor  soul, — but  she  studied  in 
ordtr  to  instruct  me, — and  often  when  I  slept  the  uncon- 
scious sleep  of  healthy  childhood,  she  was  up  through 
half  the  night  spelling  out  abstruse  books,  difficult  enough 
for  an  educated  woman  to  master,  but  for  a  peasant 
— (she  was  nothing  more) — presenting  almost  super- 
human obstacles.  I  was  very  quick  to  learn,  and  her 
loving  patience  was  not  wasted  upon  me; — but  when  I 
was  about  eleven  years  old  I  resolved  that  I  could  no 
longer  burden  her  with  the  expenses  of  my  life — so  with- 
out asking  her  consent,  I  hired  myself  out  to  a  farmer, 


228  The  Master-Christian. 

to  clear  weeds  from  his  fields,  and  so  began  to  earn 
my  bread,  which  is  the  best  and  noblest  form  of  knowl- 
edge existing  in  the  world  for  all  of  us.  With  the  earn- 
ing of  my  body's  keep  came  spiritual  independence,  and 
young  as  I  was  I  began  to  read  and  consider  for  myself 
— till  when  I  was  about  fifteen  chance  brought  me  across 
the  path  of  a  man  whose  example  inspired  me  and  decided 
my  fate,  named  Aubrey  Leigh." 

Angela  gave  a  slight  exclamation  of  surprise,  and 
Cyrillon  turned  his  dark  eyes  upon  her. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle ! — I  am  aware  that  he  has  been  in 
Paris  lately.  No  doubt  you  know  him.  Certainly  he 
is  born  to  be  a  leader  of  men,  and  if  a  noble  life  and  un- 
sullied character,  together  with  eloquence,  determination, 
and  steadfastness  of  purpose  can  help  him  to  fulfil  his 
mission,  he  will  assuredly  succeed.  He  is  from  America, 
though  born  of  British  parents,  and  the  first  thing  I 
gathered  from  him  was  an  overwhelming  desire  to  study 
and  to  master  the  English  language — not  because  it  was 
English,  but  because  it  was  the  universal  language  spoken 
by  America.  I  felt  from  what  he  said  then, — and  I  feel 
still  from  what  I  have  learnt  and  know  now, — that 
America  has  all  the  future  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand.  My 
intention,  had  I  succeeded  in  my  revengeful  attempt  this 
morning,  was  to  escape  to  America  immediately,  and 
from  there  write  under  the  nom  de  plume  which  I  have 
already  made  known.  I  can  write  as  easily  in  English 
as  in  French, — for  my  friend  Aubrey  Leigh  was  very 
kind  and  took  a  great  liking  to  me,  and  stayed  in  Tou- 
raine  for  a  year  and  a  half,  simply  for  the  pleasure  of 
instructing  me  and  grafting  his  theories  upon  my  young 
and  aspiring  mind.  And  now  we  are  as  one  in  our  hopes 
and  endeavours,  and  the  years  make  little  disparity  be- 
tween us.  He  was  twenty-two  when  I  was  but  fifteen", — 
but  now  that  I  am  twenty-six  and  he  thirty-three  we  are 
far  better  matched  associates.  From  him  I  learnt  much 
of  the  discontents, — ethical  and  religious, — of  the  world ; 
from  him  I  learnt  how  to  speak  in  public.  He  was  then 
an  actor,  a  sort  of  wandering  '  Bohemian,' — but  he  soon 
tired  of  the  sordidness  of  the  stage  and  aspired  to  higher 
platforms  of  work,  and  he  had  already  begun  to  lead  the 
people  by  his  powers  of  oratory,  as  he  leads  them  now.  I 
heard  him  speak  in  French  as  fluently  as  in  English ;  and 


The  Master-Christian.  229 

I  resolved  on  my  part  to  speak  likewise  in  English  as 
easily  as  he  did  in  French.  And  when  we  parted  it  was 
with  a  mutual  resolve  to  lead! — to  lead — and  ever  still  to 
lead ! — we  would  starve  on  our  theories,  we  said,  but  we 
would  speak  out  if  it  cost  us  our  very  lives.  To  earn 
daily  bread  I  managed  to  obtain  steady  employment  as 
a  labourer  in  the  fields, — and  I  soon  gained  sufficient  to 
keep  my  mother  and  myself.  My  friend  Aubrey  had 
imbued  me  thoroughly  with  the  love  of  incessant  hard 
work;  there  was  no  disgrace,  he  said,  in  digging  the 
soil,  if  the  brain  were  kept  working  as  well  as  the  hands. 
And  I  did  keep  my  brain  working;  I  allowed  it  also  to 
lie  fallow,  and  to  absorb  everything  of  nature  that  was 
complex,  grand  and  beautiful, — and  from  such  studies  I 
learnt  the  goodness  and  the  majesty  of  the  Creator  as  they 
are  never  found  in  human  expositions  of  Him  made  by 
the  preachers  of  creeds.  At  eighteen  I  made  my  first 
public  address, — and  the  next  year  published  my  first 
book  in  Tours.  But  though  I  won  an  instant  success  my 
soul  was  hampered  and  heavy  with  the  burning  thought 
of  vengeance ;  and  this  thought  greatly  hindered  the  true 
conceptions  of  life  that  I  desired  to  entertain.  When  my 
mother  died,  and  her  failing  voice  crooned  for  the  last 
time,  'Ah,  la  tristesse  d 'avoir  aime!'  the  spark  of  hatred 
I  had  cherished  all  the  years  of  my  life  for  my  father 
burst  into  a  flame,  and  leapt  up  to  its  final  height  this 
morning  as  you  saw.  Now  it  has  gone  out  into  dust  and 
ashes — the  way  of  all  such  flames !  I  have  been  spared 
for  better  things  I  hope.  What  I  have  written  and  done, 
France  knows, — but  my  thoughts  are  not  limited  to 
France,  they  seek  a  wider  horizon.  France  is  a  decaying 
nation — her  doom  is  sealed.  I  work  and  write  for  the 
To-Be,  not  the  Has-Been.  Such  as  my  life  is,  it  has 
never  been  darkened  or  brightened  by  love  of  any  sort, 
save  that  which  my  mother  gave  me.  Your  Eminence," 
and  he  turned  towards  the  Cardinal,  "  asks  me  why  I 
inculcate  theories  which  suggest  change,  terror  and  con- 
fusion ; — Monseigneur,  terror  and  confusion  can  never 
be  caused  save  among  the  ranks  of  those  who  have  se- 
cret reason  to  be  terrorised !  There  is  nothing  terrifying 
in  Truth  to  those  who  are  true!  If  I  distract  and  alarm 
unworthy  societies,  revolting  hypocrism,  established 
shams  and  miserable  conventions,  I  am  only  the  wielder 


230  The  Master-Christian. 

of  the  broom  that  sweeps  out  the  cobwebs  and  the  dust 
from  a  dirty  house.  My  one  desire  is  to  make  the  habi- 
tation of  Christian  souls  clean!  Terror  and  confusion 
there  will  be, — there  must  be ; — the  time  is  ripe  for  it — 
none  of  us  can  escape  it — it  is  the  prophesied  period  of 
'  men's  hearts  failing  them  for  fear,  and  looking  after 
those  things  which  are  coming  on  the  earth.'  I  have 
not  made  the  time.  I  am  born  of  it — one  with  it ; — God 
arranges  these  things.  I  am  not  working  for  self  or  for 
money, — I  can  live  on  bread  and  herbs  and  water.  I 
want  no  luxurious  surroundings, — no  softnesses — no  deli- 
cacies— no  tendernesses — no  sympathies !  I  set  my  face 
forward  in  the  teeth  of  a  thousand  winds  of  opposition, 
forward  still  forward !  I  seek  nothing  for  my  own  per- 
sonal needs !  I  know  that  nothing  can  hinder  me  or  keep 
me  back!  Nothing!  Monseigneur,  I  voice  the  cry  of 
multitudes ! — they  have,  as  it  were,  been  wandering  in 
the  wilderness  listening  to  the  Gospel  for  many  days, — 
days  which  have  accumulated  to  more  than  eighteen  hun- 
dred years ;  just  as  they  did  of  old, — only  the  Master  did 
not  send  them  away  hungry — He  fed  them  lest  they 
should  '  faint  by  the  way.'  He  thought  of  that  possi- 
bility ! — we  seldom  care  how  many  faint  by  the  way,  or 
die  in  the  effort  to  live !  Monseigneur,  I  must — I  will 
speak  for  the  dumb  mouths  of  the  nations !  And  every 
unit  that  can  so  speak,  or  can  so  write,  should  hasten  to 
turn  itself  into  a  Pentecostal  flame  of  fire  to  blaze  and 
burn  a  warning  upon  the  verge  of  this  new  century, — 
causing  men  to  prophesy  with  divers  tongues,  of  the 
Truth  of  God, — not  of  the  lies  that  have  been  made  to 
represent  Him !  " 

Felix  Bonpre  raised  one  hand  with  a  slight  gesture  en- 
joining silence,  and  seemed  wrapped  for  a  moment  in 
painful  meditation.  Angela  looking  anxiously  up  at  him 
caught,  not  his  glance,  but  that  of  Manuel,  who  smiled 
at  her  encouragingly.  Presently  the  Cardinal  spoke, — 
gently  and  with  a  kind  of  austere  patience. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  from  your  speech,  my  son,  and 
the  work  of  your  life,  that  you  consider  the  Church  a  lie  ? 
I  put  the  question  plainly;  but  I  do  not  ask  it  either  to 
reproach  or  intimidate  you.  I  am  well  aware  I  can  do 
neither.  Thought  is  free  to  the  individual  as  well  as  to 
the  nations ;  and  whereas,  in  past  time  we  had  one  man 


The  Master-Christian.  231 

who  could  think  and  speak,  we  have  now  a  thousand ! 
We  are  unfortunately  apt  to  forget  the  spread  of  educa- 
tion ; — but  a  man  who  thinks  as  you  do,  and  dares  all 
things  for  the  right  to  act  upon  his  thought,  should 
surely  be  able  to  clearly  explain  his  reasons  for  arming 
himself  against  any  outwardly  expressed  form  of  faith, 
which  has  received  the  acceptance  and  submission  of  the 
world?" 

"  Monseigneur,  I  do  not  attack  any  faith!  Faith  is 
necessary, — faith  is  superb !  I  honour  this  uplifting 
virtue, — whether  I  find  it  in  the  followers  of  the  Talmud 
or  the  Koran,  or  the  New  Testament,  and,  personally 
speaking,  I  would  die  for  my  belief  in  the  great  name 
and  ethical  teaching  of  Christ.  I  attack  the  Church — 
yes, — and  why?  Because  it  has  departed  from  the 
Faith !  Because  it  is  a  mere  system  now, — corrupt  in 
many  parts,  as  all  systems  must  naturally  become  when 
worn  out  by  long  usage.  In  many  ways  it  favours 
stupid  idolatries,  and  in  others  it  remains  deaf  and  blind 
and  impervious  to  the  approach  of  great  spiritual  and  re- 
ligious facts,  which  are  being  made  splendidly  manifest 
by  Science.  Why,  there  is  not  a  miracle  in  the  Testa- 
ment that  science  will  not  make  possible ! — there  is  not  a 
word  Christ  ever  spoke  that  shall  not  be  proved  true ! 
And  may  I  not  be  called  a  Christian?  I  may, — I  must, 
— I  will  be, — for  I  am!  But  hypocrisy,  false  measures, 
perverted  aims,  and  low  pandering  to  ignorance  and 
brutality,  vile  superstition  and  intimidation — these  things 
must  be  destroyed  if  the  Church  is  to  last  with  honour  to 
itself  and  with  usefulness  to  others.  To-day,  over  in 
England,  they  are  quarrelling  with  bitter  acrimony  con- 
cerning forms  and  outward  symbols  of  religion,  thus  ful- 
filling the  words  of  the  Lord,  '  Ye  make  clean  the  out- 
side of  the  cup  and  of  the  platter  but  within  ye  are  full 
of  extortion  and  excess.'  Now,  if  the  Spirit  of  Christ 
were  at  all  in  these  men  who  thus  argue,  there  would  be 
no  trouble  about  forms  or  symbols  of  faith, — there  would 
be  too  much  of  the  faith  itself  for  any  such  petty  disputa- 
tion. Monseigneur,  I  swear  to  you,  I  say  nothing,  teach 
nothing  but  what  is  the  straight  and  true  command  of 
Christ !  ...  no  more,  but  also  no  less ! " 

Moved  by  the  young  man's  eloquence,  the  Cardinal 
looked  at  him  straightly  in  the  eyes. 


232  The  Master-Christian. 

"  You  speak  well,"  he  said,  "  Some  people  would  tell 
you  that  you  have  that  fluency  of  tongue  which  is  judged 
dangerous.  But  danger  is  after  all  only  for  those  who 
have  something  to  fear.  If  we  of  the  Church  are  pure 
in  our  intent  nothing  should  disturb  our  peace, — nothing 
.should  move  us  from  our  anchorage.  Your  ideas,  you 
say,  are  founded  on  the  Master's  Word  ?  " 

"  Entirely,"  replied  Cyrillon,  "  I  am  working, — Au- 
brey Leigh  is  working, — we  are  all  working  for  a  House 
of  Praise  more  than  a  Place  of  Prayer.  We  want  to  give 
thanks  for  what  we  are,  and  what,  if  we  follow  the  sane 
and  healthy  laws  of  life,  we  may  be, — rather  than  con- 
tinue the  clamour  for  more  benefits  when  we  have  already 
received,  and  are  receiving  so  much." 

"  Would  you  not  pray  at  all  then  ?  "  asked  Bonpre. 

"  Yes — for  others,  not  for  ourselves !  And  then  not  as 
the  Church  prays.  Her  form  of  service  is  direct  diso- 
bedience !  " 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  Monseigneur,  I  always  preface  my  remarks  on  these 
subjects  with  the  words  '  if  we  believe  in  Christ.'  I  say 
if  we  believe,  we  must  accept  His  commands ;  and  they 
are  plain  enough.  '  When  ye  pray,  use  not  vain  repeti- 
tions as  the  heathen  do,  for  they  think  they  shall  be  heard 
for  their  much  speaking.  Be  not  ye  therefore  like  unto 
them,  for  your  Father  knoweth  tvhat  things  ye  have  need 
of  before  ye  ask  him.'  Now  if  this  is  to  be  understood 
as  the  command  of  Christ,  the  Messenger  of  God,  do  we 
not  deliberately  act  against  it  in  all  directions?  Vain 
repetitions !  The  Church  is  full  of  them, — choked  with 
them !  The  priests  who  order  us  to  say  ten  or  twenty 
'  Paternosters  '  by  way  of  penance,  are  telling  us  to  do 
exactly  what  Christ  commanded  us  not  to  do !  The  ter- 
rible Litany  of  the  Protestant  Church,  with  its  everlast- 
ing '  Good  Lord  deliver  us,'  is  another  example  of  vain 
repetition.  Again — think  of  these  words — '  When  thou 
prayest,  thou  shalt  not  be  as  the  hypocrites  are,  for  they 
love  to  pray  standing  in  the  synagogues,  and  at  the 
corners  of  the  streets  that  they  may  be  seen  of  men.' 
Is  not  all  our  churchgoing  that  we  may  be  seen  of 
men  ?  " 

"  Then,  my  son,  it  seems  that  you  would  do  away  with 
the  Church  altogether  in  the  extremity  of  your  zeal !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  233 

said  the  Cardinal  gently,  "  There  must  surely  be  some 
outward  seeming — some  city  set  on  a  hill  whose  light 
cannot  be  hid — some  visible  sign  of  Christ  among 
us " 

"  True,  Monseigneur,  but  such  a  sign  must  be  of  so 
brilliant  and  pure  a  nature, — so  grand  an  uplifted  Cross 
of  unsullied  light  that  it  shall  be  as  the  sun  rising  out  of 
darkness !  Oh,  I  would  have  churches  built  gloriously, 
with  every  possible  line  of  beauty  and  curve  of  perfect 
architecture  in  their  fabrication; — but  I  would  have  no 
idolatrous  emblems, — no  superstitious  ceremonies  within 
them, — no  tawdry  reliquaries  of  gems — no  boast  of  the 
world's  wealth  at  all ;  but  great  Art, — the  result  of  man's 
great  Thought  rendered  and  given  with  pure  simplicity! 
I  would  have  great  music, — and  more  than  all  I  would 
have  thanksgiving  always !  And  if  valuables  were 
brought  to  the  altar  for  gifts,  the  gifts  should  be  given 
out  again  to  those  in  need — not  kept, — not  left  untouched 
like  a  miser's  useless  hoard,  while  one  poor  soul  was 
starving !  " 

"  My  son,  such  a  scheme  of  purification  as  yours  wrill 
take  centuries  to  accomplish,"  murmured  Bonpre  slowly, 
"  Almost  it  would  need  Christ  to  come  again !  " 

"  And  who  shall  say  He  will  not  come !  "  exclaimed 
Cyrillon  fervently,  "  Who  shall  swear  He  is  not  even  now 
among  us !  Has  he  not  told  us  all  to  '  watch,'  because  we 
know  not  the  hour  at  which  He  cometh?  No,  Mon- 
seigneur!— centuries  are  not  needed  for  Truth  to  make 
itself  manifest  nowadays !  We  hold  Science  by  the  hand, 
— she  is  becoming  our  familiar  friend  and  companion, 
and  through  her  guidance  we  have  learned  that  the  Laws 
of  the  Universe  are  Truth, — Truth  which  cannot  be 
contradicted ;  and  that  only  the  things  which  move  and 
work  in  harmony  with  those  laws  can  last.  All  else  must 
perish!  'Whosoever  is  not  -with  me  is  against  me' — or 
in  other  words,  whosoever  opposes  himself  to  Eternal 
Laws  must  be  against  the  whole  system  of  the  Universe, 
and  is  therefore  a  discord  which  is  bound  to  be  silenced. 
Monseigneur,  Christ  was  a  Divine  Preacher  of  Truth; — 
and  I,  in  my  humble  man's  way  endeavour  to  follow 
Truth.  And  if  I  ever  fail  now,  after  to-day's  attempted 
crime,  to  honour  the  commands  of  Christ,  and  obey  them 
as  closely  as  I  can,  then  pass  your  condemnation  upon 


234  The  Master-Christian. 

me,  but  not  till  then !  Meanwhile,  give  me  a  good  man's 
blessing !  " 

Deeply  interested  as  he  was,  the  Cardinal  nevertheless 
still  hesitated.  To  him,  though  the  sayings  and  opinions 
of  the  famous  "  Gys  Grandit "  were  not  exactly  new, 
there  was  something  terrible  in  hearing  him  utter  them 
with  such  bold  and  trenchant  meaning.  He  sighed,  and 
appeared  lost  in  thought;  till  Manuel  touched  him  gently 
on  the  arm. 

"  Dear  friend,  are  you  afraid  to  bless  this  man  who 
loves  our  Father  ?  " 

"  Afraid  ?  My  child,  I  am  afraid  of  nothing — but 
there  is  grave  trouble  in  my  heart " 

"  Nay,  trouble  should  never  enter  there !  "  said  Manuel 
softly,  "  Stretch  out  your  hand ! — let  no  human  soul 
wait  for  a  benediction !  " 

Profoundly  moved,  the  Cardinal  obeyed,  and  laid  his 
white  trembling  hand  on  Cyrillon's  bent  head. 

"  May  God  forgive  thee  the  intention  of  thy  sin  to- 
day !  "  he  said,  in  a  low  and  solemn  tone — "  May  Christ 
guide  thee  out  of  all  evil,  and  lead  thee  through  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  world  to  Heaven's  own  peace,  which  passeth 
understanding !  " 

So  gentle,  so  brave,  so  sweet  and  tender  were  the  ac- 
cents in  which  he  spoke  these  few  simple  works,  that  the 
tears  filled  Angela's  eyes,  and  Abbe  Vergniaud,  resting 
his  head  on  one  hand,  felt  a  strange  contraction  in  his 
throat,  and  began  to  think  of  possible  happy  days  yet  to 
be  passed  perchance  in  seclusion  with  this  long-denied 
-son  of  his,  who  had  sprung  out  of  the  secret  ways  of 
love,  first  to  slay  and  then  to  redeem  him.  Could  there 
be  a  more  plain  and  exact  measuring  out  of  law?  If  he 
had  not  confessed  his  sin  he  would  have  probably  died 
in  it  suddenly  without  a  chance  of  amendment  or  repent- 
ance— but  lo ! — on  confession,  his  life  had  been  saved  as 
if  by  a  miracle,  and  the  very  result  of  evil  had  been 
transformed  into  consolation !  So  he  sat  absorbed,  won- 
dering— musing — and  while  the  Cardinal  spoke  his  bless- 
ing with  closed  eyes,  all  heads  were  bent,  and  faces  hid- 
den. And  in  the  reverent  silence  that  followed,  the  gen- 
tle prelate  gave  a  sign  of  kind  dismissal  and  farewell  to 
all,  which  they,  understanding,  accepted,  and  at  once 
made  their  brief  adieux,  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  only  lin- 


The  Master-Christian.  235 

gering  a  moment  longer  than  the  rest,  to  bend  humbly 
down  and  kiss  his  Apostolic  ring.  Then  they  left  him, 
alone  with  Manuel. 

On  their  way  out  of  the  house,  through  Angela's  studio, 
the  Princesse  D'Agramont  paused  for  a  few  minutes  to 
say  further  kind  words  to  the  Abbe  respecting  the  invi- 
tation she  had  given  him  to  her  Chateau — ,  and  while  she 
was  thus  engaged,  Angela  turned  hurriedly  to  Cyrillon. 

"  As  '  Gys  Grandit '  you  receive  many  letters  from 
strangers,  do  you  not  ?  " 

The  young  man  regarded  her  earnestly,  with  uncon- 
cealed admiration  glowing  in  his  fine  eyes. 

"  Assuredly,  Mademoiselle !  And  some  of  these  letters 
are  very  dear  to  me,  because  they  make  me  aware  of 
friends  I  might  otherwise  never  have  known." 

"  You  have  one  correspondent  who  is  deeply  interested 
in  your  theories,  and  who  sympathises  keenly  in  all  your 

religious  views — "  she  went  on,  lowering  her  eyes 

"  a  certain  Madame  Angele " 

He  uttered  a  quick  exclamation  of  pleasure. 

"You  know  her?" 

She  looked  up, — her  eyes  sparkled — and  she  laid  a 
finger  on  her  lips. 

"  Keep  my  secret !  "  she  said "  I  am  so  glad  to 

meet  you  personally  at  last !  " 

He  stared,  bewildered. 

"You you  ...    !" 

"  Yes.  I !  "  and  she  smiled — "  The  mysterious  and 
Christian-Democratic  '  Angele '  is  Angela  Sovrani. 
So  you  see  we  have  been  unconscious  friends  for  some 
time !  " 

His  face  grew  radiant,  and  he  made  a  quick  movement 
towards  her. 

"  Then  I  owe  you  a  great  debt  of  gratitude !  "  he  said 

— "  For  encouragement — for  sympathy — for  help  in 

dark  hours ! and  how  unworthy  I  have  proved  of 

your  goodness  .  .  .  what  must  you  think  of  me — you — 
so  beautiful — so  good " 

She  moved  back  a  little  with  a  warning  gesture — and 
his  words  were  interrupted  by  the  Abbe,  who  glancing 
from  one  to  the  other  in  a  little  surprise,  said,  as  he 
bent  reverently  over  her  hand  and  kissed  it, — 

"  We  must  be  going,  Cyrillon !  " 


236 


The  Master-Christian. 


Another  few  moments  and  Angela  was  left  alone  to 
think  over,  and  try  to  realise  the  strange  and  rapidly- 
occurring  events  of  the  day.  Whatever  her  thoughts 
were,  they  seemed  for  a  long  time  to  be  of  a  somewhat 
April-like  character,  for  her  eyes  brimmed  over  with 
tears  even  while  she  smiled. 


XVII. 

IN  one  of  the  few  remaining  streets  of  Rome  which  the 
vandal  hand  of  the  modern  builder  and  restorer  has  not 
meddled  with,  stands  the  "  Casa  D'Angeli  ",  a  sixteenth- 
century  building  fronted  with  wonderfully  carved  and 
widely  projecting  balconies — each  balcony  more  or  less 
different  in  design,  yet  forming  altogether  in  their  en- 
tirety the  effect  of  complete  sculptural  harmony.  The 
central  one  looks  more  like  a  cathedral  shrine  than  the 
embrasure  of  a  window,  for  above  it  angels'  heads  look 
out  from  the  enfolding  curves  of  their  own  tall  wings, 
and  a  huge  shield  which  might  serve  as  a  copy  of  that 
which  Elaine  kept  bright  for  Lancelot,  is  poised  between, 
bearing  a  lily,  a  cross,  and  a  heart  engraven  in  its  quar- 
terings.  Here,  leaning  far  forward  to  watch  the  intense 
gold  of  the  Roman  moon  strike  brightness  and  shadow 
out  of  the  dark  uplifted  pinions  of  her  winged  stone 
guardians,  stood  Sylvie  Hermenstein,  who,  in  her  deli- 
cate white  attire,  with  the  moonbeams  resting  like  a  halo 
on  her  soft  hair,  might  have  easily  passed  for  some  fa- 
voured saint  whom  the  sculptured  angels  were  protect- 
ing. And  yet  she  was  only  one  whom  the  world  called 
"  a  frivolous  woman  of  society,  wrho  lived  on  the  admir- 
ation of  men  ".  So  little  did  they  know  her, — so  little 
indeed  does  the  world  know  about  any  of  us.  It  was 
true  that  Sylvie,  rich,  lovely,  independent,  and  therefore 
indifferent  to  opinions,  lived  her  own  life  very  much  ac- 
cording to  her  own  ideas, — but  then  those  ideas  were  far 
more  simple  and  unworldly  than  anybody  gave  her  credit 
for.  She  to  whom  all  the  courts  of  Europe  were  open, 
preferred  to  wander  in  the  woods  alone,  reading  some 
favourite  book,  to  almost  any  other  pleasure, — and  as 
for  the  admiration  which  she  won  by  a  look  or  turn  of 
her  head  wherever  she  went,  nothing  in  all  the  world  so 
utterly  bored  her  as  this  influence  of  her  own  charm. 
Foi»  she  had  tried  men  and  found  them  wanting.  With 
all  the  pent-up  passion  of  her  woman's  soul  she  longed 


238  The  Master-Christian. 

to  be  laved, — but  what  she  understood  by  love  was  a 
much  purer  and  more  exalted  emotion  than  is  common 
among  men  and  women.  She  was  suffering  just  now 
from  an  intense  and  overpowering  ennui.  Rome  was 
beautiful,  she  averred,  but  dull.  Stretching  her  fair  white 
arms  out  over  the  impervious  stone-angels  she  said  this, 
and  more  than  this,  to  someone  within  the  room,  who  an- 
swered her  in  one  of  the  most  delightfully  toned  voices 
in  the  world — a  voice  that  charmed  the  ear  by  its  first 
cadences,  and  left  the  listener  fascinated  into  believing 
that  its  music  was  the  expression  of  a  perfectly  harmo- 
nious mind. 

"  You  seem  very  discontented,"  said  the  voice,  speaking 
in  English,  "  But  really  your  pathway  is  one  of  roses !  " 

"You  think  so?"  and  Sylvie  turned  her  head  quickly 
round  and  looked  at  her  companion,  a  handsome  little 
man  of  some  thirty-five  years  of  age,  who  stretching 
himself  lazily  full  length  in  an  arm-chair  was  toying 
with  the  silky  ears  of  an  exceedingly  minute  Japanese 
spaniel,  Sylvie's  great  pet  and  constant  companion.  "  Oh, 
mon  Dieu!  You,  artist  and  idealist  though  you  are — or 
shall  I  say  as  you  are  supposed  to  be,"  and  she  laughed 
a  little,  "  you  are  like  all  the  rest  of  your  sex !  Just  be- 
cause you  see  a  woman  able  to  smile  and  make  herself 
agreeable  to  her  friends,  and  wear  pretty  clothes,  and 
exchange  all  the  bon  mots  of  badinage  and  every-day 
flirtation,  you  imagine  it  impossible  for  her  to  have  any 
sorrow !  " 

"  There  is  only  one  sorrow  possible  to  a  woman,"  re- 
plied the  gentleman,  who  was  no  other  than  Florian 
Varillo,  the  ideal  of  Angela  Sovrani's  life,  smiling  as  he 
spoke  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  conveyed  an  almost 
amorous  meaning. 

Sylvie  left  the  balcony  abruptly,  and  swept  back  into 
the  room,  looking  a  charming  figure  of  sylph-like  slen- 
derness  and  elegance  in  her  clinging  gown  of  soft  white 
satin  showered  over  with  lace  and  pearls. 

"Only  one  sorrow!"  she  echoed,  "And  that  is — ?" 

"  Inability  to  win  love,  or  to  awaken  desire !  "  replied 
Varillo,  still  smiling. 

The  pretty  Comtesse  raised  her  golden  head  a  Ifttle 
more  proudly,  with  the  air  of  a  lily  lifting  itself  to  the 
light  on  its  stem — her  deep  blue  eyes  flashed. 


The  Master-Christian.  239 

"  I  certainly  cannot  complain  on  that  score !  "  she  said, 
with  a  touch  of  malice  as  well  as  coldness — "  But  the 
fact  that  men  lose  their  heads  about  me  does  not  make  me 
in  the  least  happy." 

"  It  should  do  so !  "  and  Varillo  set  the  little  Japanese 
dog  carefully  down  on  the  floor,  whereupon  it  ran 
straight  to  its  mistress,  uttering  tiny  cries  of  joy,  "  There 
is  no  sweeter  triumph  for  a  woman  than  to  see  men  sub- 
jugated by  her  smile,  and  intimidated  by  her  frown ; — to 
watch  them  burning  themselves  like  moths  in  her  clear 
flame,  and  dying  at  her  feet  for  love  of  her !  The  woman 
who  can  do  these  things  is  gifted  with  the  charm  which 
makes  or  ruins  life, — few  can  resist  her, — she  draws  sen- 
sitive souls  as  a  magnet  draws  the  needle, — and  the  odd 
part  of  it  all  is  that  she  need  not  have  any  heart  herself 
— she  need  not  feel  one  pulse  of  the  passion  with  which 
she  inspires  others — indeed  it  is  better  that  she  should  not. 
The  less  she  is  moved  herself,  the  greater  is  her  fascina- 
tion. Love  clamours  far  more  incessantly  and  passion- 
ately at  a  closed  gate  than  an  open  one ! " 

Sylvie  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two  looking  at  him 
with  something  of  doubt  and  disdain.  The  room  they 
were  in  was  one  of  those  wide  and  lofty  apartments 
which  in  old  days  might  have  been  used  for  a  prince's 
audience  chamber,  or  a  dining  hall  for  the  revelry  of  the 
golden  youth  of  Imperial  Rome.  The  ceiling,  supported 
by  eight  slender  marble  columns,  was  richly  frescoed  with 
scenes  from  Ariosto's  poems,  some  of  the  figures  being 
still  warm  with  colour  and  instinct  with  life — and  on  the 
walls  were  the  fading  remains  of  other  pictures,  the 
freshest  among  them  being  a  laughing  Cupid  poised  on 
a  knot  of  honeysuckle,  and  shooting  his  arrow  at  random 
into  the  sky.  Ordinarily  speaking,  the  huge  room  was 
bare  and  comfortless  to  a  degree, — but  the  Comtesse 
Sylvie's  wealth,  combined  with  her  good  taste,  had  filled 
it  with  things  that  made  it  homelike  as  well  as  beautiful. 
The  thickest  velvet  pile  carpets  laid  over  the  thickest  of 
folded  mattings,  covered  the  marble  floors,  and  deprived 
them  of  their  usual  chill, — great  logs  of  wood  burned 
cheerfully  in  the  wide  chimney,  and  flowers,  in  every 
sort  of  quaint  vase  or  bowl,  made  bright  with  colour  and 
blossom  all  dark  and  gloomy  corners,  and  softened  every 
touch  of  melancholy  away.  A  grand  piano  stood  open, — 


240  The  Master-Christian. 

a  mandoline  tied  with  bright  ribbons,  lay  on  a  little  table 
near  a  cluster  of  roses  and  violets, — books,  .music,  draw- 
ings, bits  of  old  drapery  and  lace  were  so  disposed  as  to 
hide  all  sharp  corners  and  forbidding  angles, — and  where 
the  frescoes  on  the  wall  were  too  damaged  to  be  worth 
showing  even  in  outline,  some  fine  old  Flemish  tapestry 
covered  the  defect.  Sylvie  herself,  in  the  exquisite  cloth- 
ing which  she  always  made  it  her  business  to  wear,  was 
the  brilliant  completion  of  the  general  picturesqueness, — 
and  Florian  Varillo  seemed  to  think  so  as  he  looked  at 
her  with  the  practised  underglance  of  admiration  which 
is  a  trick  common  to  Italians,  and  which  some  women 
accept  as  a  compliment  and  others  resent  as  an  insult. 

"  Do  you  not  agree  with  me  ?  "  he  said  persuasively, 
with  a  smile  which  showed  his  fine  and  even  teeth  to  per- 
fection, "  When  the  chase  is  over  the  hunters  go  home 
tired !  What  a  man  cannot  have,  that  very  thing  is  what 
he  tries  most  to  obtain !  " 

"  You  speak  from  experience,  I  suppose,"  said  Sylvie, 
moving  slowly  across  the  room  towards  the  fire,  and  ca- 
ressing her  little  dog  which  she  held  nestled  under  her 
rounded  chin  like  a  ball  of  silk,  "  And  yet  you,  more  than 
most  men,  have  everything  you  can  want  in  this  world — 
but  I  suppose  you  are  not  satisfied — not  even  with  An- 
gela !  " 

"  Angela  is  a  dear  little  woman !  "  said  Florian,  with 
an  air  of  emotional  condescension,  "  The  dearest  little 
woman  in  the  world !  And  she  is  really  clever." 

"  Clever!  "  echoed  Sylvie,  "  Is  that  all?  " 

"  Cara  Contessa,  is  not  that  enough  ?  " 

"  Angela  is  a  genius,"  averred  Sylvie,  with  warmth 
and  energy,  "  a  true  genius  ! — a  great, — a  sublime  artist !  " 

"  Che  che!"  and  Varillo  smiled,  "  How  delightful  it  is 
to  hear  one  woman  praise  another !  Women  are  so  often 
like  cats  spitting  and  hissing  at  each  other,  tearing  at  each 
other's  clothes  and  reputations, — clothes  even  more  than 
reputations, — that  it  is  really  quite  beautiful  to  me  to  hear 
you  admire  my  Angela !  It  is  very  generous  of  you  !  " 

"  Generous  of  me !  "  and  the  Comtesse  Hermenstein 
looked  him  full  in  the  eyes,  "  Why  I  think  it  an  honour 
to  know  her — a  privilege  to  touch  her  hand !  All  Europe 
admires  her — she  is  one  of  the  world's  greatest  artists." 

"  She  paints  wonderfully  well, — for  a  woman,"  said 


The  Master-Christian.  241 

Varillo  lazily,  "  But  there  is  so  much  in  that  phrase, 
cara  Contessa,  '  for  a  woman  '.  Your  charming  sex  often 
succeeds  in  doing  very  clever  and  pretty  things ;  but  in  a 
man  they  would  not  be  considered  surprising.  You  fairy 
creatures  are  not  made  for  fame — but  for  love !  " 

The  Comtesse  glanced  him  up  and  down  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  laughed  musically. 

"  And  for  desertion,  and  neglect  as  well !  "  she  said, 
"  And  sometimes  for  bestowing  upon  your  charming  sex 
every  fortune  and  every  good  blessing,  and  getting  kicked 
for  our  pains !  And  sometimes  it  happens  that  we  are 
permitted  the  amazing  honour  of  toiling  to  keep  you  in 
food  and  clothing,  while  you  jest  at  your  clubs  about  the 
uselessness  of  woman's  work  in  the  world !  Yes,  I  know ! 
Have  you  seen  Angela's  great  picture  ?  " 

Again  Florian  smiled. 

"  Great  ?  No !  I  know  that  the  dear  little  girl  has 
fixed  an  enormous  canvas  up  in  her  studio,  and  that  she 
actually  gets  on  a  ladder  to  paint  something  upon  it; — 
but  it  is  always  covered, — she  does  not  wish  me  to  see  it 
till  it  is  finished.  She  is  like  a  child  in  some  things,  and 
I  always  humour  her.  I  have  not  the  least  desire  to  look 
at  her  work  till  she  herself  is  willing  to  show  it  to  me. 
But  in  myself  I  am  convinced  she  is  trying  to  do  too 
much — it  is  altogether  too  large  an  attempt." 

"  \Yhat  are  yon  doing?"  asked  Sylvie  abruptly. 

"  Merely  delicate  trifles, — little  mosaics  of  art !  "  said 
Varillo  with  languid  satisfaction,  "  They  may  possibly 
please  a  connoisseur, — but  they  are  quite  small  studies." 

"  You  have  the  same  model  you  had  last  year?  "  queried 
Sylvie. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  Varillo  shifted  uneasily  in  his 
chair. 

'  The  same,"  he  replied  curtly. 

Again  Sylvie  laughed. 

"  Immaculate  creature !  "  she  murmured,  "  The  noblest 
of  her  sex,  of  course !  Men  always  call  the  women  who 
pander  to  their  vices  '  noble  '." 

Varillo  flushed  an  angry  red. 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  sarcastic,  fair  lady,"  he  said 
carelessly,  "  I  do  not  understand " 

"  No  ?  You  are  not  usually  so  dense  with  me,  though 
to  those  who  do  not  know  you  as  well  as  I  do,  you  some- 


242  The  Master-Christian. 

times  appear  to  be  the  very  stupidest  of  men !  Now  be 
frank ! — tell  me,  is  not  Pon-Pon  one  of  the  '  noble ' 
women  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  very  good  creature,"  averred  Varillo  gently, 
and  with  an  air  that  was  almost  pious, — "  She  supports 
her  family  entirely  on  her  earnings." 

"  How  charming  of  her !  "  laughed  Sylvie,  "  And  so 
exceptional  a  thing  to  do,  is  it  not  ?  My  dressmaker  does 
the  same  thing, — she  '  supports  '  her  family ;  but  respect- 
ably! And  just  think! — if  ever  your  right  hand  loses  its 
cunning  as  a  painter,  Angela  will  be  able  to  '  support ' 
you ! " 

"  Always  Angela ! "  muttered  Varillo,  beginning  to 
sulk,  "  Cannot  you  talk  of  something  else  ?  " 

"  No, — not  for  the  moment !  She  is  an  interesting  sub- 
ject,— to  me!  She  will  arrive  in  Rome  to-morrow  night, 
and  her  uncle  Cardinal  Bonpre,  will  be  with  her,  and  they 
will  all  stay  at  the  Sovrani  Palace,  which  seems  to  me  like 
a  bit  of  the  Vatican  and  an  old  torture-chamber  rolled  into 
one!  And,  talking  of  this  same  excellent  Cardinal,  they 
have  almost  canonized  him  at  the  Vatican, — almost,  but 
not  quite." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

"  Oh,  have  you  not  heard  ?  It  appears  he  performed  a 
miracle  in  Rouen,  curing  a  child  who  had  been  a  cripple 
ever  since  babyhood,  and  making  him  run  about  as  well 
and  strong  as  possible.  One  prayer  did  it,  so  it  is  said, — 
the  news  reached  the  Vatican  some  days  ago ;  our  charm- 
ing Monsignor  Gherardi  told  me  of  it.  The  secretary  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Rouen  brought  the  news  personally  to 
the  Holy  Father." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  .said  Varillo  indifferently,  "  The 
days  of  miracles  are  past.  And  from  what  I  know, 
and  from  what  Angela  has  told  me  of  her  uncle,  Car- 
dinal Bonpre,  he  would  never  lend  himself  to  such 
nonsense." 

"  Well,  I  only  tell  you  what  is  just  now  the  talk  at  the 
Vatican,"  said  Sylvie,  "  Your  worthy  uncle-in-law  that 
is  to  be,  may  be  Pope  yet!  Have  you  heard  from  An- 
gela?" 

"  Every  day.  But  she  has  said  nothing  about  this  mir- 
acle." 

"  Perhaps  she  does  not  know," — and  Sylvie  began  to 


The  Master-Christian.  243 

yawn,  and  stretch  her  white  arms  above  her  head  lazily, 
"  Oh,  Dio  mio!  How  terribly  dull  is  Rome !  " 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here,  Contessa  ?  " 

"  Nearly  a  week !  If  I  am  not  more  amused  I  shall  go 
away  home  to  Budapest." 

"  But  how  is  one  to  amuse  you  ?  "  asked  Varillo,  sit- 
ting down  beside  her  and  endeavouring  to  take  her  hand. 
She  drew  it  quickly  from  him. 

"  Xot  in  that  way !  "  she  said  scornfully,  "  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  you  can  be  so  conceited!  A  woman  says  she  is 
dull  and  bored,  and  straightway  the  nearest  man  imagines 
his  uncouth  caresses  will  amuse  her!  Tiens  tiens! 
When  will  you  understand  that  all  women  are  not  like 
Pon-Pon  ?  " 

Yarillo  drew  back,  chafed  and  sullen.  His  amour 
propre  was  wounded,  and  he  began  to  feel  exceedingly 
cross.  The  pretty  laugh  of  Sylvie  rang  out  like  a  little 
peal  of  bells. 

"  Suppose  Angela  knew  that  you  wished  to  '  amuse  ' 
me  in  that  particularly  unamusing  \vay  ?  "  she  went  on, 
"  You — who,  to  her,  are  chevalier  sans  peur  et  sans 
reproche! " 

"  Angela  is  different  to  all  other  women,"  said  Va- 
rillo quickly,  with  a  kind  of  nervous  irritation  in  his  man- 
ner as  he  spoke,  "  and  she  has  to  be  humoured  accord- 
ingly. She  is  extremely  fantastic — full  of  strange  ideas 
and  unnatural  conceptions  of  life.  Her  temperament  is 
studious  and  dreamy — self-absorbed  too  at  times — and 
she  is  absolutely  passionless.  That  is  why  she  will  make 
a  model  wife." 

The  Comtesse  drew  her  breath  quickly, — her  blood 
began  to  tingle  and  her  heart  to  beat but  she  re- 
pressed these  feelings  and  said, 

"  You  mean  that  her  passionless  nature  will  be  her 
safety  in  all  temptation  ?  " 

"  Exactly !  "  and  Varillo,  smiling,  became  good  na- 
tured  again — "  For  Angela  to  be  untrue  would  be  a 
grotesque  impossibility !  She  has  no  idea  of  the  stronger 
sentiment  of  love  which  strikes  the  heart  like  a  lightning 
flash  and  consumes  it.  Her  powers  of  affection  are  in- 
tellectually and  evenly  balanced, — and  she  could  not  be 
otherwise  than  faithful  because  her  whole  nature  is  op- 
posed to  infidelity.  But  it  is  not  a  nature  which,  being 


244  The  Master-Christian. 

tempted,  overcomes — inasmuch  as  there  is  no  temptation 
which  is  attractive  to  her !  " 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  and  a  sparkle  of  satire  danced  in 
Sylvie's  bright  eyes,  "  Really  ?  And  because  she  is  self- 
respecting  and  proud,  you  would  almost  make  her  out  to 
be  sexless? — not  a  woman  at  all, — without  heart? — with- 
out passion  ?  Then  you  do  not  love  her !  " 

"  She  is  the  dearest  creature  to  me  in  all  the  world !  " 
declared  Florian,  with  emotional  ardour,  "  There  is  no 
one  at  all  like  her !  Even  her  beauty,  which  comes  and 
goes  with  her  mood,  is  to  an  artist's  eye  like  mine,  ex- 
quisite,— and  more  dazzling  to  the  senses  than  the  stereo- 
typed calm  of  admitted  perfection  in  form  and  feature. 
But,  car  a  Contessa,  I  am  something  of  an  analyst  in  char- 
acter— and  I  know  that  the  delicacy  of  Angela's  charm 
lies  in  that  extraordinary  tranquillity  of  soul,  which,  (you 
suggested  the  word!)  may  indeed  be  almost  termed  sex- 
less. She  is  purer  than  snow — and  very  much  colder." 

"  You  are  fortunate  to  be  the  only  man  selected  to 
melt  that  coldness,"  said  Sylvie  with  a  touch  of  disdain, 
"  Myself,  I  think  you  make  a  great  mistake  in  calling 
Angela  passionless.  She  is  all  passion — and  ardour — 
but  it  is  kept  down, — held  firmly  within  bounds,  and  de- 
voutly consecrated  to  you.  Pardon  me,  if  I  say  that  you 
should  be  more  grateful  for  the  love  and  trust  she  gives 
you.  You  are  not  without  rivals  in  the  field." 

Florian  Varillo  raised  his  eyebrows  smilingly. 

"  Rivals?     Veramente!    I  am  not  aware  of  them!  " 

"  No,  I  should  say  you  had  too  good  an  opinion  of 
yourself  to  imagine  any  rival  possible !  "  said  the  Com- 
tesse,  "  But  such  a  person  may  exist !  " 

Varillo  yawned,  and  flicked  a  grain  of  dust  off  his 
waistcoat  with  a  fastidious  thumb  and  finger. 

"  Impossible !  No  one  could  possibly  fall  in  love  with 
Angela  now !  She  is  an  icicle, — no  man  save  myself  has 
the  ghost  of  a  chance  with  her !  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Sylvie  impatiently,  "  Because 
she  is  betrothed  to  you.  But  if  things  were  not  as  they 
are " 

"  It  would  make  no  difference,  I  assure  you,"  laughed 
Varillo  gaily,  "  Angela  does  not  like  men  as  a  rule.  She 
is  fondest  of  romance — of  dreams — of  visions,  out  of 
which  come  the  ideas  for  her  pictures " 


The  Master-Christian.  245 

"  And  she  is  quite  passionless  with  all  this,  you  think  ?  " 
said  Sylvie,  "  The  '  stronger  sentiment  which  strikes  the 
heart  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  consumes  it ',  as  you 
so  poetically  describe  it — could  never  possibly  disturb 
her  peace?" 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Varillo,  with  a  meditative  air, 
"  Angela  and  I  glided  into  love  like  two  children  wan- 
dering by  chance  into  a  meadow  full  of  flowers, — no 
storm  struck  us — no  sudden  danger  signal  flashed  from 
our  eyes — no  trembling  hurry  of  the  blood  bade  us  rush 

into  each  other's  arms  and  cling! nothing  of  this 

marvel  touched  us ! we  loved  with  all  the  calm 

but  without  the  glory !  " 

His  voice, — the  most  fascinating  quality  attached  to 
his  personality, — rose  and  fell  in  this  little  speech  with 
an  exquisite  cadence,  half  sad,  half  sweet, — and  Sylvie, 
impressionable  creature  as  she  was,  with  her  innate  love 
of  romance  and  poetry,  was  unconsciously  moved  by  it  to 
a  faint  sigh.  There  was  nothing  to  sigh  for,  really, — it 
was  just  a  mere  melodious  noise  of  words,  in  the  making 
of  which  Florian  Varillo  was  an  adept.  He  had  not  an 
atom  of  serious  thought  in  his  remark,  any  more  than  in 
the  dainty  verses  he  was  wont  to  append  to  his  pictures 
—verses  which  he  turned  out  with  the  lightest  and  swift- 
est ease,  and  which  read  like  his  spoken  sentences,  as  if 
there  were  a  meaning  in  them,  when  truly  there  was  none. 
But  Sylvie  was  just  then  in  a  curious  state  of  mind,  and 
slight  things  easily  impressed  her.  She  was  in  love — 
and  yet  she  was  not  in  love.  The  handsome  face  and 
figure  of  the  Marquis  Fontenelle,  together  with  many  of 
his  undoubted  good  and  even  fine  qualities,  attracted  her 
and  held  her  in  thrall,  much  more  than  the  consciousness 
of  his  admiration  and  pursuit  of  her, — but — and  this  was 
a  very  interfering  "  but  "  indeed, — she  was  reluctantly 
compelled  to  admit  to  herself  that  there  was  no  glozing 
over  the  fact  that  he  was  an  incorrigibly  "  fast  ",  other- 
wise bad  man.  His  life  was  a  long  record  of  liaisons 
with  women, — an  exact  counterpart  of  the  life  of  the  fa- 
mous actor  Miraudin.  And  though  there  is  a  saying 
that  a  reformed  rake  makes  the  best  husband,  Sylvie  was 
scarcely  sure  of  being  willing  to  try  this  test, — besides, 
the  Marquis  had  not  offered  himself  in  that  capacity,  but 
only  as  a  lover.  In  Paris, — within  reach  of  him,  sur- 


246  The  Master-Christian. 

rounded  by  his  gracious  and  graceful  courtesies  every- 
where, the  pretty  and  sensitive  Comtesse  had  sometimes 
felt  her  courage  oozing  out  at  her  finger's  ends, — and 
the  longing  to  be  loved  became  so  strong  and  overwhelm- 
ing in  her  soul  that  she  had  felt  she  must  perforce  one  day 
yield  to  her  persistent  admirer's  amorous  solicitations, 
come  what  would  of  it  in  the  end.  Her  safety  had  been 
in  flight;  and  here  in  Rome,  she  had  found  herself,  like 
a  long-tossed  little  ship,  suddenly  brought  up  to  firm  an- 
chorage. The  vast  peace  and  melancholy  grandeur  of 
the  slowly  dying  "  Mother  of  Nations  ",  enveloped  her  as 
with  a  sheltering  cloak  from  the  tempest  of  her  own 
heart  and  senses,  and  being  of  an  exquisitely  refined  and 
dainty  nature  in  herself,  she  had,  while  employing  her 
time  in  beautifying,  furnishing  and  arranging  her  apart- 
ments in  the  casa  D'Angeli,  righted  her  mind,  so  to  speak, 
and  cleared  it  from  the  mists  of  illusion  which  had  be- 
gun to  envelop  it,  so  that  she  could  now  think  of  Fonte- 
nelle  quietly  and  with  something  of  a  tender  compas- 
sion,— she  could  pray  for  him  and  wish  him  all  things 
good, — but  she  could  not  be  quite  sure  that  she  loved 
him.  And  this  was  well.  For  we  should  all  be  very 
sure  indeed  that  we  do  love,  before  we  crucify  ourselves 
to  the  cross  of  sacrifice.  Inasmuch  as  if  the  love  in  us 
be  truly  Love,  we  shall  not  feel  the  nails,  we  shall  be  un- 
conscious of  the  blood  that  flows,  and  the  thorns  that 
prick  and  sting, — we  shall  but  see  the  great  light  of  Res- 
urrection springing  glorious  out  of  death  !  But  if  we  only 
think  we  love, — when  our  feeling  is  the  mere  attraction 
of  the  senses  and  the  lighter  impulses — then  our  cruci- 
fixion is  in  vain,  and  our  death  is  death  indeed.  Some 
such  thoughts  as  these  had  given  Sylvie  a  new  charm 
of  manner  since  her  arrival  in  Rome — she  was  less  mirth- 
ful, but  more  sympathetic — less  riant e,  but  infinitely  pret- 
tier and  more  fascinating.  Florian  Varillo  studied  her 
appreciatively  in  this  regard  after  he  had  uttered  his  lit- 
tle meaningless  melody  of  sentiment,  and  thought  within 
himself — "  A  week  or  two  and  I  could  completely  conquer 
that  woman !  "  He  was  mistaken — men  who  think  these 
sort  of  things  often  are.  But  the  thought  satisfied  him, 
and  gave  bold  lustre  to  his  eyes  and  brightness  to  his 
smile  when  he  rose  to  take  his  leave.  He  had  been  one 
of  the  guests  at  a  small  and  early  dinner-party  given  by 


The  Master-Christian.  247 

the  Comtesse  that  evening, — and  with  the  privilege  of  an 
old  acquaintance,  he  had  lingered  thus  long  after  all  the 
others  had  gone  to  their  respective  homes. 

"  I  will  bid  you  now  the  felicissiina  nottc,  cara  e  bella 
Contessa!"  he  said  caressingly,  raising  her  small  white 
hand  to  his  lips,  and  kissing  it  with  a  lingering  pressure 
of  what  he  considered  a  peculiarly  becoming  moustache — 
"  When  Angela  arrives  to-morrow  night  I  shall  be  often 
at  the  Palazzo  Sovrani — shall  I  see  you  there  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  will  see  me  there,"  replied  Sylvie,  a 
little  impatiently,  "  Am  I  not  one  of  Angela's  closest 
friends?  " 

"  True !  And  for  the  sake  of  la  mia  dolcezza,  you  will 
also  be  a  friend  to  me?  " 

' '  La  inia  dolcezza'",  repeated  Sylvie,  "Is  that  what 
you  call  her  ?  " 

"  Yes — but  I  fear  it  is  not  original !  "  said  Varillo  smil- 
ing, "  One  Ariosto  called  his  lady  thus." 

"  Yes  ?  "  and  Sylvie's  eyes  darkened  and  grew  humid 
with  a  sudden  tenderness  of  thought,  "  It  is  a  pretty 
phrase !  " 

"  It  should  be  used  to  you  always,  by  every  man  who 
has  my  present  privilege!-"  said  Varillo,  gallantly,  kiss- 
ing her  hand  once  more,  "  You  will  be  my  friend  ?  " 

Sylvie  disengaged  her  hand  from  his. 

"  You  must  not  depend  upon  me,  Signer,"  she  said 
with  sudden  coldness,  "  To  be  perfectly  frank  with  you 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  you.  You  are  very  charming 
and  very  clever — but  I  doubt  your  sincerity." 

"Ah,  che  sono  infelice!"  murmured  Varillo  softly, 
"You  are  right,  beltissima  Madama!  I  am  not  mys.elf 
with  many  people — but  with  you — you  are  one  of  the 
few  who  understand  me  ...  I  am  the  very  soul  of 
candour ! " 

He  fixed  his  eyes  full  upon  her  with  an  open  and 
straight  regard,  adding,  "Can  you  doubt  me?"  in  a 
touching  tone  of  wounded  feeling. 

The  Comtesse  laughed,  and  her  face  flushed. 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know !  "  she  said,  with  a  light  gesture 
of  her  hands  as  though  she  threw  something  unpleasant 
away  from  her,  "  I  shall  judge  of  you  by  the  happiness 
sorrow — of  Angela !  " 

A  slight  frown  contracted  his  brows — but  it  passed 


248  The  Master-Christian. 

quickly,  and  the  candid  smile  illumined  his  mobile  face 
once  more. 

"  Ebben!  Buona  notte,  bella  capricciosa!  "  and  bowing 
low  he  turned  towards  the  door,  "  Thank  you  a  thousand 
times  for  a  very  happy  evening !  Even  when  you  are  un- 
kind to  me  you  are  still  charming!  Addio!" 

She  murmured  an  "  addio  "  in  response,  and  when  he 
had  gone,  and  the  echo  of  his  footfall  down  the  great 
marble  stairs  had  completely  died  away,  she  went  out 
once  more  to  the  balcony  and  leaned  among  the  sculp- 
tured angels,  a  dainty,  slender,  white  figure,  with  her  soft 
flower-like  face  turned  up  to  the  solemn  sky,  where  the 
large  moon  marched  like  an  Amazon  through  space,  at- 
tended by  her  legions  and  battalions  of  stars.  So  slight, 
so  fragile  and  sweet  a  woman ! — with  a  precious  world  of 
love  pent  up  in  her  heart  .  .  .  yet  alone — quite  alone  on 
this  night  of  splendid  luminousness  and  majestic  sugges- 
tions of  infinity, — an  infinity  so  monstrous  and  solitary 
to  the  one  delicate  creature,  whose  whole  soul  craved  for 
a  perfect  love.  Alas,  for  this  "  perfect  love,"  of  which 
all  the  dearest  women  dream!  Where  shall  they  find  it? 
— and  how  shall  they  win  it?  Too  often  it  comes  when 
they  may  not  have  it ;  the  cup  of  nectar  is  offered  to  lips 
that  are  forbidden  to  drink  of  it,  because  the  world's  con- 
vention stands  between  and  turns  the  honey  to  gall.  One 
of  the  many  vague  problems  of  a  future  life,  offered  for 
our  consideration,  is  the  one  concerning  the  righteous  sat- 
isfaction of  love.  Will  not  those  who  have  been  bound 
fast  as  prisoners  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony  without  love, 
find  those  whose  spirits  are  naturally  one  with  theirs,  but 
whom  they  have  somehow  missed  in  this  life?  For 
Byron's  fine  lines  are  eternally  true, — 

"  Few — none — find  what  they  love  or  could  have  loved, — 
Though  accident,  blind  contact,  and  the  strong 
Necessity  of  loving,  have  removed 
Antipathies — but  to  recur  ere  long 
Envenom'd  with  irrevocable  wrong." 

And  the  "  blind  contact "  is  the  worst  of  all  influences 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  .mind  and  heart, — the  most  per- 
nicious, and  the  most  deeply  weighted  with  responsibil- 
ity. In  this  regard,  Sylvie  Hermenstein  had  acted  wisely 
by  removing  herself  from  association,  or  "  blind  contact  " 
.  with  her  would-be  lover, — and  yet,  though  she  was  aware 


The  Master-Christian.  249 

that  her  doing  so  had  caused  a  certain  dispersal  of  the 
atmosphere  which  almost  veered  towards  complete  dis- 
illusion, she  found  nevertheless,  that  Rome  as  she  had 
said,  was  "  dull  " ;  her  heart  was  empty,  and  longing  for 
she  knew  not  what.  And  that  deep  longing  she  felt  could 
not  have  been  completely  gratified  by  the  brief  ardours  of 
Fontenelle.  And  so  she  sat  thinking  wearily, — wonder- 
ing what  was  to  become  of  her  life.  She  had  riches  in 
plenty,  a  fine  estate  and  castle  in  Hungary, — sen-ants  at 
her  beck  and  call — and  yet  with  all  her  wealth  and  beauty 
and  brilliancy,  she  felt  that  she  was  only  loved  by  two 
persons  in  the  world,  her  old  butler,  and  Madame  Bozier, 
who  had  been  her  first  governess,  and  who  now  lived  with 
her,  as  a  sort  of  dame  d'honneur  surrounded  \vith  every 
comfort  and  luxury,  and  who  certainly  served  her  former 
pupil  with  a  faithful  worship  that  would  not  have 
changed,  even  if  the  direst  poverty  instead  of  riches  had 
been  the  portion  of  her  beloved  patroness.  This  elderly 
lady  it  was  who  entered  now  with  a  soft  and  hesitating 
step,  and  raising  her  glasses  to  her  eyes,  peered  anxiously 
through  the  lighted  room  towards  the  dark  balcony  where 
Sylvie  stood,  like  a  fairy  fallen  out  of  the  moon,  and  who 
presently  ventured  to  advance  and  call  softly, 

"Sylvie!" 

The  pretty  Comtesse  turned  and  smiled. 

"  Is  it  you,  Katrine  ?  Will  you  come  out  here  ?  It  is 
not  cold,  and  there  is  a  lace  wrap  on  the  chair, — put  it 
round  your  dear  old  head  and  come  and  be  romantic  with 
me !  "  and  she  laughed  as  the  wrorthy  Bozier  obeyed  her, 
and  came  cautiously  out  among  the  angels'  sculptured 
wings.  "  Ah,  dear  Katrine !  The  happy  days  are  gone 
when  a  dark-eyed  Roman  lover  would  come  strolling 
down  a  street  like  this  to  strike  the  chords  of  his  man- 
doline, and  sing  the  dear  old  song, 

'  'Ti  voglio  bene  assai, 
E  tu  non  pensi  a  me  ! '  ' 

Without  thinking  about  it,  she  sang  this  refrain  sud- 
denly in  her  sweet  mezzo-soprano,  every  note  ringing 
clear  on  the  silence  of  the  night,  and  as  she  did  so  a  man 
of  slim  figure  and  medium  height,  stepped  out  of  the  dark 
shadows  and  looked  up.  His  half  laughing  eyes,  piercing 
in  their  regard,  met  the  dreamy  soft  ones  of  the  pretty 


250  The  Master-Christian. 

woman  sitting  among  the  angels'  heads  above  him - 

and  pausing  a  moment  he  hesitated — then  lifted  his  hat. 
His  face  was  excessively  delicate  in  outline  and  very 
pale,  but  a  half  mischievous  smile  softened  and  sweet- 
ened the  firm  lines  of  his  mouth  and  chin,  and  as  the 
moonbeams  played  caressingly  on  his  close  curling  crop 
of  fair  hair,  he  looked  different  enough  to  most  of  the 
men  in  Rome  to  be  considered  singular  as  well  as  hand- 
some. Sylvie,  hidden  as  she  was  among  the  shadows, 
blushed  and  drew  back,  a  little  vexed  with  herself, — the 
worthy  Madame  Bozier  was  very  properly  scandalised. 

"  My  dear  child !  "  she  murmured,  "  Remember — we 
are  in  Rome.  People  judge  things  so  strangely!  What 
an  unfortunate  error! ' 

But  Sylvie  became  suddenly  unmanageable.  Her  love 
of  coquetry  and  mischief  got  the  better  of  her,  and  she 
thrust  out  her  pretty  head  over  the  balcony  once  more. 

"  Be  quiet,  Katrine !  "  she  whispered,  "  I  was  longing 
for  a  romance,  and  here  is  one !  "  And  detaching  a  rose 
from  her  dress  she  tossed  it  lightly  to  the  stranger  be- 
low. He  caught  it — then  looked  up  once  more, 

"  Till  we  meet,"  he  said  softly  in  English, — and  mov- 
ing on  among  the  shadows,  disappeared. 

"Now,  who  do  you  suppose  lie  was?"  enquired  Syl- 
•vie,  leaning  back  against  the  edge  of  the  balcony,  with 
an  arch  glance  at  her  gouvernante,  "  It  was  someone 
unlike  anyone  else  here,  I  am  sure !  It  was  somebody 
with  very  bright  eyes, — laughing  eyes, — audacious  eyes, 
because  they  laughed  at  me!  They  sparkled  at  me  like 
stars  on  a  frosty  night !  Katrine,  have  you  ever  been  for 
a  sleigh-ride  in  America?  No,  I  did  not  take  you  there, 
— I  forgot!  You  would  have  had  the  rheumatism,  poor 
dear!  Well,  when  you  are  in  America  during  the  win- 
ter, you  go  for  rides  over  the  snow  in  a  big  sleigh,  with 
tinkling  bells  fastened  to  the  horses,  and  you  see  the  stars 
flash  as  you  pass — like  the  eyes  of  that  interesting  gen- 
tleman just  now.  His  face  was  like  a  cameo — I  wonder 
who  he  is !  I  shall  find  out !  I  must  do  something  des- 
perate for  Rome  is  so  terribly  dull !  But  I  feel  better 
now !  I  like  that  man's  eyes.  They  are  such  a  contrast 
to  the  sleepy  tiger  eyes  of  the  Marquis  Fontenelle !  " 

"  My  dear  Sylvie !  "  remonstrated  Madame  Bozier, 
"  How  can  you  run  on  in  this  way  ?  Do  you  want  to 


The  Master-Christian.  251 

break  any  more  hearts?  You  are  like  a  lamp  for  unfor- 
tunate moths  to  burn  themselves  in !  " 

"  Oh  no,  not  I,"  said  Sylvie,  shaking  her  head  with 
a  touch  of  half  melancholy  scorn,  "  I  am  not  a  '  profes- 
sional '  beauty !  The  Prince  of  Wales  does  not  select 
me  for  his  admiration, — hence  it  follows  that  I  cannot 
possibly  be  an  attraction  in  Europe.  I  have  not  the 
large  frame,  the  large  hands,  and  the  still  larger  feet  of 
the  beautiful  English  ladies,  who  rule  royal  hearts  and 
millionaires'  pockets !  Men  scarcely  notice  me  till  they 
come  to  know  me — and  then,  pouf! — away  go  their 
brains ! — and  they  grovel  at  my  small  feet  instead  of  the 
large  ones  of  the  English  ladies !  "  She  laughed.  "  Now 
how  is  that,  Katrine?  " 

"  C'est  dn  charme — ton  jours  du  charme!"  murmured 
Madame  Bozier,  studying  with  a  wistful  affection  the 
dainty  lines  of  Sylvie's  slight  figure,  "  And  that  is  an  even 
more  fatal  gift  than  beauty,  chere  petite  I" 

"  Dn  charme!  You  think  that  is  it?  Yes? — and  so 
the  men  grow  stupid  and  wild ! — some  want  me,  and  some 
want  my  fortune — and  some  do  not  know  what  they  want ! 
— but  one  thing  is  certain,  that  they  all  quarrel  together 
about  me,  and  bore  me  to  extinction ! — Even  the  stranger 
with  the  bright  stars  of  an  American  winter  for  eyes, 
might  possibly  bore  me  if  I  knew  him !  " 

She  gave  a  short  sigh  of  complete  dissatisfaction. 

"  To  be  loved,  Katrine — really  loved !  What  a  deli- 
cious thing  that  would  be !  Have  you  ever  felt  it  ?  " 

The  poor  lady  trembled  a  little,  and  gave  a  somewhat 
mournful  smile. 

"  Xo,  you  dear  romantic  child !  I  cannot  say  with 
truth  that  I  have !  I  married  when  I  was  very  young, 
and  my  husband  was  many  years  older  than  myself.  He 
was  afflicted  with  chronic  rheumatism  and  gout,  and  to 
be  quite  honest,  I  could  never  flatter  myself  that  he 
thought  of  me  more  than  the  gout.  There !  I  knew  that 
would  amuse  you !  " — this,  as  Sylvie's  pretty  tender  laugh 
rippled  out  again  on  the  air,  "  And  though  it  sounds  as 
if  it  were  a  jest,  it  is  perfectly  true.  Poor  Monsieur 
Bozier !  He  was  the  drawing  master  at  the  school  where 
I  was  assistant  governess, — and  he  was  very  lonely;  he 
wanted  someone  to  attend  to  him  when  the  gouty  par- 
oxysms came  on,  and  he  thought  I  should  do  as  well, 


252  The  Master-Christian. 

perhaps  better  than  anyone  else.  And  I — I  had  no  time 
to  think  about  myself  at  all,  or  to  fall  in  love — I  was  very 
glad  to  be  free  of  the  school,  and  to  have  a  home  of  my 
own.  So  I  married  him,  and  did  my  best  to  be  a  good 
nurse  to  him, — but  he  did  not  live  long,  poor  man — you 
see  he  always  would  eat  things  that  did  not  agree  with 
him,  and  if  he  could  not  get  them  at  home  he  went  out 
and  bought  them  on  the  sly.  There  was  no  romance 
there,  my  dear!  And  of  course  he  died.  And  he  left 
me  nothing  at  all, — even  our  little  home  was  sold  up  to 
pay  our  debts.  Then  I  had  to  work  again  for  my  living, 
— and  it  was  by  answering  an  advertisement  in  the  Times, 
which  applied  for  an  English  governess  to  go  to  a  family 
in  Budapest,  that  I  first  came  to  know  you." 

"  And  that  is  all  your  history !  "  said  Sylvie,  "  Poor 
dear  Bozier !  How  uneventful !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  and  the  worthy  lady  sighed  also,  but  hers, 
was  a  sigh  of  placid  and  philosophical  comfort.  "  Still, 
my  dear,  I  am  not  at  all  sorry  to  be  uninteresting!  I 
have  rather  a  terror  of  lives  that  arrange  themselves  into 
grand  dramas,  with  terrible  love  affairs  as  the  central 
motives." 

"  Have  you  ?  I  have  not !  "  said  Sylvie  thoughtfully, — 
"  With  all  my  heart  I  admire  a  '  grande  passion.'  Some- 
times I  think  it  is  the  only  thing  that  makes  history.  One 
does  not  hear  nearly  so  much  of  the  feuds  in  which  Dante 
was  concerned,  as  of  his  love  for  Beatrice.  It  is  always 
so,  only  few  people  are  capable  of  the  strength  and  pa- 
tience and  devotion  needed  for  this  great  consummation 
of  life.  Now  I " 

Madame  Bozier  smiled,  and  with  tender  fingers  ar- 
ranged one  of  the  stray  knots  of  pearls  with  which  Syl- 
vie's  white  gown  was  adorned. 

"  You  dear  child !  You  were  made  for  sweetness  and 
caresses, — not  suffering  .  .  ." 

"  You  mistake !  "  said  Sylvie,  with  sudden  decision, 
"  You,  in  your  fondness  for  me,  and  because  you  have 
seen  me  grow  up  from  childhood,  sometimes  still  view 
me  as  a  child,  and  think  that  I  am  best  amused  with  friv- 
olities, and  have  not  the  soul  in  me  that  would  endure 
disaster.  But  for  love's  sake  I  would  do  anything — yes ! 
.  .  .  anything !  " 

"My  child!" 


The  Master-Christian.  253 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Sylvie,  her  eyes  darkening  and  light- 
ening quickly  in  their  own  fascinating  way,  "  I  would 
consent  to  shock  the  stupid  old  world ! — though  one  can 
scarcely  ever  shock  it  nowadays,  because  it  has  itself  be- 
come so  shocking!  But  then  the  man  for  whom  I  would 
sacrifice  myself,  must  love  me  as  ardently  as  I  would  love 
him!  That  is  the  difficulty,  Katrine.  For  men  do  not 
love — they  only  desire." 

She  raised  her  face  to  the  sky,  and  the  moonbeams  shed 
a  golden  halo  round  her. 

"  That,"  she  said  slowly,  "  is  the  reason  why  I  have 
come  here  to  avoid  the  Marquis  Fontenelle.  He  does  not 
love  me !  " 

"  He  is  a  villain !  "  said  Madame  Bozier  with  asperity. 

"  Helas!  There  are  so  many  villains!  "  sighed  Sylvie, 
still  looking  up  at  the  brilliant  heavens,  "  And  sometimes 
if  a  villain  really  loves  anybody  he  half  redeems  his  vil- 
lainy. But  the  Marquis  loves  himself  best  of  anyone  in 
the  world  .  .  .  and  I — I  do  not  intend  to  be  second  in 
anyone's  affections !  So  .  .  ."  she  paused,  "  Do  you  see 
that  star,  Katrine  ?  It  is  as  bright  as  if  it  were  shining  on 
a  frosty  night  in  America.  And  do  you  not  notice  the  re- 
semblance to  the  eyes  of  the  stranger  who  has  my  rose? 
I  daresay  he  will  put  it  under  his  pillow  to-night,  and 
dream  !  "  She  laughed, — "  Let  us  go  in !  " 

Madame  Bozier  followed  her  as  she  stepped  back  into 
the  lighted  salon,  where  she  was  suddenly  met  by  her 
little  Arab  page,  carrying  a  large  cluster  of  exquisite  red 
and  white  roses.  A  card  was  attached  to  the  flowers, 
bearing  the  words,  "  These  many  unworthy  blossoms  in 
return  for  one  beyond  all  worth." 

The  Comtesse  read  and  passed  it  in  silence  to  Madame 
Bozier.  A  smile  was  on  her  face,  and  a  light  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  think  Rome  is  not  so  dull  after  all !  "  she  said,  as 
she  set  the  flowers  carefully  in  a  tall  vase  of  Etruscan 
ware,  "  Do  you  know,  I  am  beginning  to  find  it  inter- 
esting !  " 


XVIII. 

AUBREY  LEIGH  was  a  man  who  had  chosen  his  own 
way  of  life,  and,  as  a  natural  consequence  of  this,  had 
made  for  himself  an  independent  and  original  career. 
Born  in  the  New  World  of  America  he  had  been  very 
highly  educated, — not  only  under  the  care  of  a  strict 
father,  and  an  idolising  mother,  but  also  with  all  the  ad- 
vantages one  of  the  finest  colleges  in  the  States  could 
give  him.  Always  a  brilliant  scholar,  and  attaining  his 
successes  by  leaps  and  bounds  rather  than  by  close  and 
painstaking  study,  the  day  came, — as  it  comes  to  all  finely- 
tempered  spirits, — when  an  overpowering  weariness  of 
body  and  soul  took  possession  of  him, — when  the  very 
attainment  of  knowledge  seemed  absurd, — and  all  things, 
both  in  nature  and  art,  took  on  a  sombre  colouring,  and 
the  majestic  pageant  of  the  world's  progress  appeared 
no  more  than  a  shadow  too  vain  and  futile  to  be  worth 
while  watching  as  it  passed.  Into  a  Slough  of  Despond, 
such  as  Solomon  experienced  when  he  wrote  his  famous 
"  Ecclesiastes,"  Aubrey  sank  unconsciously,  and, — to  do 
him  justice, — most  unwillingly.  His  was  naturally  a 
bright,  vivacious,  healthy  nature — but  he  was  over-sensi- 
tively  organised, — his  nerves  did  not  resemble  iron  so 
much  as  finely-tempered  steel,  which  could  not  but  suffer 
from  the  damp  and  rust  in  the  world's  conventionalities. 
And  some  "  little  rift  within  the  lute  "  chanced  to  him,  as 
it  often  chances  to  many,  so  that  the  subtle  music  of  his 
soul  jarred  into  discord  with  the  things  of  life,  making 
harsh  sounds  in  place  of  melody.  There  was  no  ade- 
quate cause  for  this, — neither  disappointed  love  nor  balked 
ambition  shadowed  his  davs ; — it  was  something  alto- 
gether indefinable — a  delicate,  vague  discontent  which, 
had  he  known  it,  was  merely  the  first  stirring  of  an  em- 
bryo genius  destined  one  day  to  move  the  world.  He  did 
not  know  what  ailed  him, — but  he  grew  tired — tired  of 
books — tired  of  music — tired  of  sifting  the  perplexing 
yet  enchanting  riddles  of  science — tired  of  even  his  home 


The  Master-Christian.  255 

and  his  mother's  anxious  eyes  of  love  that  watched  his 
moods  too  closely  for  his  peace, — and  one  day,  out  of 
the  merest  boyish  impulse,  he  joined  a  company  of  trav- 
elling actors  and  left  America.  Why  he  did  this  he  could 
never  tell,  save  that  he  was  a  student  and  lover  of  Shakes- 
peare. Much  to  his  own  surprise,  and  somewhat  to  his 
disgust,  he  distinguished  himself  with  exceptional  bril- 
liancy on  the  stage, — his  voice,  his  manner,  his  physique 
and  his  bearing  were  all  exceptional,  and  told  highly  in 
his  favour, — but  unfortunately  his  scholarly  acumen  and 
knowledge  of  literature  went  against  him  with  his  man- 
ager. This  personage,  who  was  densely  ignorant,  and  who 
yet  had  all  the  ineffable  conceit  of  ignorance,  took  him 
severely  to  task  for  knowing  Shakespeare's  meanings  bet- 
ter than  he  did, — and  high  words  resulted  in  mutual  sev- 
erance. Aubrey  was  hardly  sorry  when  his  theatrical 
career  came  thus  untimely  to  an  end.  At  first  he  had 
imagined  it  possible  to  become  supreme  in  histrionic  art, 
— one  who  should  sway  the  emotions  of  thousands  by  a 
word,  a  look  or  a  gesture, — he  had  meant  to  be  the  great- 
est Shakespearean  actor  of  his  day ;  and  with  his  knowl- 
edge of  French,  which  wras  as  perfect  as  his  knowledge 
of  English,  he  had  even  foreseen  the  possibility  of  tak- 
ing the  French  stage  as  well  as  the  English  by  storm. 
But  when  he  gradually  came  to  discover  the  mean  tricks 
and  miserable  treacheries  used  by  his  fellow-actors  to 
keep  a  rising  comrade  down, — when  he  felt  to  the  core 
of  his  soul  the  sordidness  and  uncleanness  of  his  sur- 
roundings.— when  he  shudderingly  repulsed  the  would- 
be  attentions  of  the  painted  drabs  called  "  ladies  of  the 
stage  ", — and  above  all,  when  he  thought  of  the  peace 
and  refinement  of  the  home  he  had,  for  a  mere  freak, 
forsaken, — the  high  tone  of  thought  and  feeling  main- 
tained there,  the  exquisite  gracefulness  and  charm  of  wro- 
manhood,  of  which  his  mother  had  been,  and  was  still 
a  perfect  embodiment,  some  new  and  far  stronger  spirit 
rose  up  within  him,  crying — "What  is  this  folly?  Am 
I  to  sink  to  the  level  of  those  whom  I  know  and  see  are 
beneath  me?  With  what  I  have  of  brain  and  heart  and 
feeling,  are  these  unworthy  souls  to  drag  me  down? 
Shall  I  not  try  to  feel  my  wings,  and  make  one  bold  dash 
for  higher  liberty  ?  And  if  I  do  so,  whither  shall  I  fly  ?  " 
He  had  come  to  England  at  this  period, — and  in  the 


256 


The  Master-Christian. 


small  provincial  town  where  his  final  rupture  with  the  il- 
literate theatrical  manager  had  taken  place,  there  was  a 
curious,  silent  contest  going  on  between  the  inhabitants 
and  their  vicar.  The  vicar  was  an  extremely  unpopular 
person, — and  the  people  were  striving  against  him,  and 
righting  him  at  every  possible  point  of  discussion.  For 
so  small  a  community  the  struggle  was  grim, — and  Au- 
brey for  some  time  could  not  understand  it,  till  one  day 
an  explanation  was  offered  him  by  a  man  engaged  in 
stitching  leather,  in  a  dirty  evil-smelling  little  hole  of  a 
shop  under  a  dark  archway. 

"  You  see,  sir,  it's  this  way,"  he  said,  "  Bessie  Morton, 
— she  wor  as  good  a  girl  as  ever  stepped — bright  and 
buxom  and  kind  hearted — yes,  that  was  Bessie,  till  some 
black  scoundrel  got  her  love  at  a  soit  moment,  and  took 
the  better  of  her.  Well ! — I  suppose  some  good  Christian 
folk  would  say  she  wor  a  bad  'un — but  I'll  warrant  she 
worn't  bad  at  heart,  but  only  just  soft-like — and  she  an 
orphan,  with  no  one  to  look  after  her,  or  say  she  done  ill 
or  well.  And  there  was  a  little  child  born — the  prettiest 
little  creature  ye  ever  saw — Bessie's  own  copy — all  blue 

eyes  and  chestnut  hair and  it  just  lived  a  matter  of 

fower  year,  and  then  it  took  sick  and  died.  Bessie  went 
nigh  raving  mad ;  that  she  did.  And  now,  what  do  you 
think,  sir?  The  passon  refused  to  bury  that  there  little 
child  in  consecrated  ground,  cos  'twas  born  out  of  wed- 
lock! What  d'ye  think  of  that  for  a  follower  of  Jesus 
with  the  loving  heart  ?  What  d'ye  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  Think !  "  said  Aubrey  indignantly,  with  an  involun- 
tary clenching  of  his  hand,  "  Why,  that  it  is  abominable 
— disgraceful !  I  should  like  to  thrash  the  brute !  " 

"  So  would  a  many,"  said  his  informant  with  an  ap- 
proving chuckle,  "  So  would  a  many !  But  that's  not  all 
— there's  more  behind — and  worse  too " 

"  Why,  what  can  be  worse  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  we  thinks — we  ain't  got  proofs  to  go  on — 
for  Bessie  keeps  her  own  counsel — but  we  thinks  the 
passon  hisself  is  the  father  of  that  there  little  thing  he 
winnot  lay  in  a  holy  grave !  " 

"  Good' God !  "  cried  Aubrey. 

"  Ay,  ay — you  may  say  '  Good  God ! '  with  a  meaning, 

sir,"  said  the  leather-seller "  And  that's  why,  as  we 

ain't  got  no  facts  and  no  power  with  bishops,  and  we 


The  Master-Christian.  257 

ain't  able  to  get  at  the  passon  anyhow,  we're  just  mak- 
ing it  as  unpleasant  for  him  in  our  way  as  we  can.  That's 
all  the  people  can  do,  sir,  but.  what  they  does,  they 
means !  " 

This  incident  deeply  impressed  Aubrey  Leigh,  and 
proved  to  be  the  turning  point  in  his  career.  Like  a  flash 
of  light  illumining  some  divinely  written  scroll  of  duty,  he 
suddenly  perceived  a  way  in  which  to  shape  his  own  life 
and  make  it  of  assistance  to  others.  He  began  his  plan 
of  campaign  by  going  about  among  the  poorer  classes, 
working  as  they  worked,  living  as  they  lived,  and  endur- 
ing what  they  endured.  Disguised  as  a  tramp,  he  wan- 
dered with  tramps.  He  became  for  a  time  one  of  the 
"  hands  "  in  a  huge  "Birmingham  factory.  After  that  he 
worked  for  several  months  at  the  coal  pits  among  the 
lowest  of  the  men  employed  there.  Then  he  got  a  "  job  " 
in  a  dock-yard  and  studied  the  ways  of  shipping  and 
humanity  together.  During  this  time  of  self-im- 
posed probation,  he  never  failed  to  write  letters 
home  to  Canada,  saying  he  was  "  doing  well "  in 
England,  but  how  this  "  doing  well "  was  brought 
about  he  never  explained.  And  the  actual  motive 
and  end  of  all  his  experiences  was  as  yet  a  secret 
locked  within  his  own  heart.  Yet  when  it  was  put  into 
words  it  sounded  simple  enough, — it  was  merely  to  find 
out  how  much  or  how  little  the  clergy,  or  so-called  "  ser- 
vants of  Christ  ",  obeyed  their  Master.  Did  they  comfort 
the  comfortless  ?  Were  they  "  wise  as  serpents,  and 
harmless  as  doves  "  ?  Were  they  long-suffering,  slow  to 
wrath,  and  forbearing  one  to  the  other?  Did  they  truly 
"feed  the  sheep"?  Did  they  sacrifice  themselves,  their 
feelings,  and  their  ambitions  to  rescue  what  was  lost? 
All  these  and  sundry  other  questions  Aubrey  Leigh  set 
himself  to  answer, — and  by  and  by  he  found  himself  on 
an  endless  path  of  discovery,  where  at  every  step  some 
new  truth  confronted  him ; — some  amazing  hypocrisy 
burned  itself  in  letters  of  flame  against  the  splendour  of 
church  altars ; — some  deed  of  darkness  and  bigotry  and 
cruelty  smirched  the  white  robes  of  the  "  ordained  to 
preach  the  Gospel  ".  Gradually  he  became  so  intently  and 
vitally  interested  in  his  investigations,  and  his  sympathy 
for  the  uncomforted  people  who  had  somehow  lost  Christ 
instead  of  finding  Him,  grew  so  keen  that  he  resolved 


258  The  Master-Christian. 

to  give  up  his  entire  life  to  the  work  of  beginning  to  try 
and  remedy  the  evil.  He  had  no  independent  means, — 
he  lived  from  hand  to  mouth  earning  just  what  he  could 
by  hard  labour, — till  one  day,  when  the  forces  in  his  own 
soul  said  "  Ready !  "  he  betook  himself  to  one  small  room 
wrhich  he  hired  in  a  fisherman's  cottage  on  the  coast  of 
Cornwall,  and  there  sat  down  to  write  a  book.  Half  the 
day  he  wrote,  and  half  the  day  he  earned  his  bread  as  a 
common  fisherman,  going  out  with  the  others  in  storm 
and  shine,  sailing  through  sleet  and  hail  and  snow,  bat- 
tling with  the  waves,  and  playing  with  Death  at  every 
turn  of  the  rocks,  which,  like  the  teeth  of  great  monsters, 
jagged  the  stormy  shore.  And  he  grew  strong,  and  lithe, 

and  muscular his  outward  life  of  hard  and  changeful 

labour,  accompanied  by  the  inward  life  of  intelligent  and 
creative  thought,  gradually  worked  off  all  depression  of 
soul  and  effeminacy  of  body, — his  experience  of  the  stage 
passed  away,  leaving  no  trace  on  his  mind  but  the  art, 
the  colour  and  the  method, — particularly  the  method  of 
speech.  With  art,  colour,  and  method  he  used  the  pen; 
— with  the  same  art,  colour,  and  method  he  used  his 
voice,  and  practised  the  powers  of  oratory.  He  would 
walk  for  miles  to  any  lonely  place-  where  he  could  be  sure 
of  no  interruption, — and  there  he  would  speak  aloud  to 
the  roaring  waves  and  wide  stretches  of  desolate  land, 
and  tell  them  the  trenchant  things  he  meant  one  day  to 
thunder  into  human  ears.  Always  of  a  fine  figure,  his 
bearing  grew  more  dauntless  and  graceful, — the  dangers 
of  the  sea  taught  him  self-control, — the  swift  changes  of 
the  sky  gave  him  the  far-off  rapt  expression  and  keen 
flash  of  his  eyes, — the  pitiful  sorrows  of  the  poor,  in 
which,  as  he  had  elected  to  be  one  of  them,  he  was  bound 
to  share,  had  deepened  the  sympathetic  lines  round  his 
delicate  mouth,  and  had  bestowed  upon  his  whole  coun- 
tenance that  look  which  is  seldom  seen  save  in  the  classic 
marbles — the  look  of  being  one  with,  and  yet  above  man- 
kind. All  the  different  classes  of  people  with  whom  he 
had  managed  to  associate  had  called  him  "  gentleman  ", 
a  name  he  had  gently  but  firmly  repudiated.  "  Call  me  a 
Man,  and  let  me  deserve  the  title !  "  he  would  say  smil- 
ingly, and  his  "  mates  "  hearing  this  would  eye  each  other 
askance,  and  whisper  among  themselves  "  that  he  was  a 
gentleman  for  all  that,  though  no  doubt  he  had  come 


The  Master-Christian.  259 

do\vn  in  the  world  and  had  to  work  for  his  living.  And 
no  shame  to  him  as  he  gave  himself  no  airs,  and  could 
turn  a  hand  to  anything."  And  so  the  time  moved  on, 
and  he  remained  in  the  Cornish  fishing  village  till  his 
book  was  finished.  Then  he  suddenly  went  up  to  Lon- 
don;— and  after  a  few  days'  absence  came  back  again, 
and  went  contentedly  on  with  the  fishing  once  more. 

A  month  or  so  later,  one  night  when  the  blackness  of 
the  skies  was  so  dense  that  it  could  almost  be  felt,  it 
chanced  that  he  and  his  companions  were  far  out  at  sea 
in  their  little  smack,  which  lay  becalmed  between  two 
darknesses — the  darkness  of  the  rolling  water,  and  the 
darkness  of  the  still  heaven.  Little  waves  lapped  heavily 
against  the  boat's  side,  and  the  only  glimpse  of  light  at 
all  was  the  yellow  flicker  of  the  lamp  that  hung  from  the 
mast  of  the  vessel,  casting  a  tremulous  flicker  on  the 
sombrous  tide,  when  all  at  once  a  great  noise  like  the 
crash  of  thunder,  or  the  roll  of  cannon,  echoed  through 
the  air,  and  a  meteor  more  brilliant  than  an  imperial 
crown  of  diamonds,  flared  through  the  sky  from  height  to 
depth,  and  with  a  blazing  coruscation  of  flying  stars  and 
flame,  dropped  hissingly  down  into  the  sea.  The  fisher- 
men startled,  all  looked  up — the  heavy  black  nets  dropped 
from  their  brown  arms  just  as  they  were  about  to  pull  in. 

''  A  sign  of  strife !  "  said  one. 

"  Ay,  ay !     We  shall  hev  a  war  maybe !  " 

Aubrey  leaned  far  over  the  boat's  side,  and  looked  out 
into  the  dense  blackness,  made  blacker  than  ever  by  the 
sudden  coming  and  going  of  the  flaming  sky-phenome- 
non,— and  half  unconsciously  he  murmured,  "  Think  not 
that  I  am  come  to  send  peace  on  earth, — I  come  not  to 
send  peace,  but  a  sword !  "  And  he  lost  himself  in  dreams 
of  the  past,  present,  and  future, — till  he  was  roused  to 
give  a  hand  in  the  dragging  up  of  the  nets,  now  full  of 
glistening  fish  with  silvery  bodies  and  ruby  eyes, — and 
then  his  thoughts  took  a  different  turn  and  wandered  off 
as  far  back  as  the  Sea  of  Galilee  when  the  disciples,  fish- 
ing thus,  were  called  by  the  Divine  Voice,  saying  "  Fol- 
low me,  and  I  will  make  you  fishers  of  men !  "  And  in 
silence  he  helped  to  row  the  laden  boat  homewards,  for 
there  was  no  wind  to  fill  the  sail, — and  the  morning  grad- 
ually broke  like  a  great  rose  blooming  out  of  the  east, 
and  the  sun  came  peering  through  the  rose  like  the  calyx 


260  The  Master-Christian. 

of  the  flower, — and  still  in  a  dream,  Aubrey  walked 
through  all  that  splendour  of  the  early  day  home  to  his 
lodging, — there  to  find  himself, — like  Byron, — famous. 
His  book  was  in  everyone's  hand — his  name  on  every- 
one's tongue.  Letters  from  the  publisher  whom  his  visit 
to  London  had  made  his  friend,  accompanied  by  a  bundle 
of  the  chief  newspapers  of  the  day,  informed  him  that 
he  had  in  one  bound  taken  his  place  at  the  very  head 
and  front  of  opinion, — and,  finest  proof  of  power,  the 
critics  were  out  like  the  hounds  in  full  cry,  and  were  al- 
ready baying  the  noble  quarry.  The  Church  papers  were 
up  in  arms — indignant  articles  were  being  added  to  the 
"  weeklies  "  by  highly  respectable  clergymen  with  a  large 
feminine  "  following  ",  and  in  the  midst  of  all  these  writ- 
ten things,  which  in  their  silent  print  seemed  literally  to 
make  a  loud  clamour  in  the  quiet  of  his  room,  Aubrey,  in 
his  sea-stained  fisherman's  garb,  with  the  sparkle  of  the 
salt  spray  still  glittering  on  his  closely  curling  bright  hair, 
looked  out  at  the  clear  horizon  from  which  the  sun  had 
risen  up  in  all  its  majesty,  and  devoutly  thanked  God ! 

"  I  have  written  part  of  my  message,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  And  now  by-and-by  I  shall  speak !  " 

But  he  lived  on  yet  for  a  time  in  the  remote  fishing 
village,  waiting, — without  knowing  quite  what  he  waited 
for, — while  the  great  Gargantuan  mouth  of  London 
roared  his  name  in  every  imaginable  key,  high  and  low, 
and  gradually  swept  it  across  the  seas  to  America  and 
Australia,  and  all  the  vast  New  World  that  is  so  swiftly 
rising  up,  with  the  eternal  balance  of  things,  to  overwhelm 
the  Old.  And  presently  the  rumour  of  his  fame  reached 
those  whom  he  had  left  behind  in  the  quiet  little  town  of 
his  birth  and  boyhood, — and  his  mother,  reading  the 
frantic  eulogies,  and  still  more  frantic  attacks  of  the  dif- 
ferent sections  of  press  opinion,  wept  with  excitement  and 
tenderness  and  yearning;  and  his  father,  startled  at  the 
strange  power  and  authority  with  which  this  new  Apostle 
of  Truth  appeared  to  be  invested,  trembled  as  he  read, 
but  nevertheless  held  himself  more  erect  with  a  pride 
in  his  own  old  age  that  he  had  never  felt  before,  as  he 
said  a  hundred  times  a  day  in  response  to  eager  ques- 
tioners— "  Yes, — Aubrey  Leigh  is  my  son !  "  Then 
mother  and  father  both  wrote  to  Aubrey,  and  poured 
out  their  affectionate  hearts  to  him  and  blessed  him, 


The  Master-Christian.  261 

which  blessing  he  received  with  that  strange  heaving  of 
the  heart  and  contraction  of  the  throat,  which,  in  a  strong 
man  means  tears.  And  still  he  waited  on,  earning  his 
bread  in  the  humble  village  which  knew  nothing  of  him, 
save  as  one  of  themselves, — for  the  inhabitants  of  the 
place  were  deaf  and  blind  to  the  ways  of  the  world,  and 
read  little  save  old  and  belated  newspapers,  so  that  they 
were  ignorant  of  his  newly  celebrated  personality, — till 
one  day  the  Fates  gave  him  that  chance  for  which,  though 
he  was  unconscious  of  it,  he  had  been  holding  himself 
back,  and  counting  the  slow  strokes  of  time ; — time  which 
seems  to  beat  with  such  a  laggard  pulse  when  one  sees 
some  great  thing  needing  to  be  done,  and  while  feeling 
all  the  force  to  do  it,  yet  has  to  control  and  keep  back 
that  force  till  the  appointed  hour  strikes  for  action. 

There  had  been  a  terrific  storm  at  sea,  and  a  herring 
smack  had  gone  down  within  sight  of  land,  sinking  eight 
strong  men  with  it,  all  husbands  and  fathers.  One  after 
the  other,  the  eight  bodies  were  thrown  back  from  the 
surging  deep  in  the  sullen  grey  morning  on  the  day  after 
the  catastrophe, — one  after  the  other  they  were  borne  rev- 
erently cp  from  the  shore  to  the  village,  there  to  be 
claimed  ty  shrieking  women  and  sobbing  children, — 
women,  who  from  more  or  less  contented,  simple-hearted, 
hard-working  souls,  were  transformed  into  the  grandly 
infuriated  iorms  of  Greek  tragedy — their  arms  tossing, 
their  hair  streaming,  their  faces  haggard  with  pain,  and 
their  eyes  blind  with  tears.  Throughout  the  heart-rend- 
ing scene,  Aubrey  Leigh  worked  silently  with  the  rest — 
composing  the  stiff  limbs  of  the  dead,  and  reverently 
closing  the  glared  and  staring  eyes ;  gently  he  had  lifted 
fainting  women  from  the  corpses  to  which  they  clung, — 
tenderly  he  had  carried  crying  children  home  to  their 
beds, — and  with  sorrowful  eyes  fixed  on  the  still  heaving 
and  angry  billows,  he  had  inwardly  prayed  for  ways  and 
means  to  comfort  these  afflicted  ones,  and  raised  their 
thoughts  from  the  gloom  of  the  grave  to  some  higher 
consummation  of  life.  For  they  were  inconsolable, — 
they  could  neither  see  nor  understand  any  adequate  cause 
for  such  grief  being  inflicted  on  them, — and  the  entire 
little  population  of  the  village  wore  a  resentful  attitude  to- 
wards God,  and  God's  inexorable  law  of  death.  When 
the  funeral  day  came,  and  the  bodies  of  the  eight  un- 


262  The  Master-Christian. 

fortunate  victims  were  committed  to  the  earth,  it  hap- 
pened, as  fate  would  have  it,  that  the  rector  of  the 
parish,  a  kindly,  sympathetic,  very  simple  old  man,  who 
really  did  his  best  for  his  parishoners  according  to  the 
faint  perception  of  holy  things  that  indistinctly  illumined 
his  brain,  happened  to  be  away,  and  his  place  was  taken 
by  the  assistant  curate,  a  man  of  irritable  and  hasty  tem- 
per, who  had  a  horror  of  "  scenes,"  and  who  always  put 
away  all  suggestions  of  death  from  him  whenever  it, 
was  possible.  It  was  very  disagreeable  to  him  to  have  to 
look  at  eight  coffins, — and  still  more  disagreeable  to  see 
eight  weeping  widows  surrounded  by  forlorn  and  father- 
less children — and  he  gabbled  over  the  funeral  service 
as  quickly  as  he  could,  keeping  his  eyes  well  on  the  book 
lest  he  should  see  some  sobbing  child  looking  at  him,  or 
some  woman  dropping  in  a  dead  faint  before  he  had 
time  to  finish.  He  was  afraid  of  unpleasant  incidents — 
and  yet  with  all  his  brusque  and  nervous  hurry  to  avoid 
anything  of  the  kind,  an  unpleasant  incident  insisted  on 
manifesting  itself.  Just  as  the  fourth  coffin  was  being 
lowered  into  the  ground,  a  wild-haired  girl  rushed  for- 
ward and  threw  herself  upon  it. 

"  Oh;  my  man,  my  man !  "  she  wailed,  "  My  own  sweet- 
heart!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  one  of  the  wid- 
ows stepped  out,  and  approaching  the  girl,  laid  her  hand 
on  her  arm. 

"  Are  ye  making  a  mock  of  me,  Mary  Bell  ?  "  she  said, 
"  Or  is  it  God's  truth  ye're  speaking  to  my  husband  lying 
there?" 

The  distraught  creature  called  Mary  Bell  looked  up 
with  a  sudden  passion  glowing  in  her  tear-wet  eyes. 

"  It's  God's  truth !  "  she  cried,  "  And  ye  needn't  look 
scorn  on  me ! — for  both  our  hearts  are  broken,  and  no 
one  can  ever  mend  them.  Yes !  It's  God's  truth !  He 
was  your  husband,  but  my  sweetheart !  And  we'll 
neither  of  us  see  a  finer  man  again !  " 

The  curate  listened,  amazed  and  aghast.  Was  nothing 
going  to  be  done  to  stop  this  scandalous  scene?  He 
looked  protestingly  from  right  to  left,  but  in  all  the  group 
of  fisher-folk  not  a  man  moved.  Were  these  two  women 
going  to  fight  over  the  dead?  He  hummed  and  hawed 
— and  began  in  a  thin  piercing  voice — "  My  friends — 


The  Master-Christian.  263 

when  he  was  again  interrupted  by  the  passionate  speech 
of  Mary  Bell. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  ye,"  she  said,  lifting  herself  from  the 
coffin  to  which  she  clung,  and  turning  upon  the  widow 
of  the  drowned  man,  "  and  ye  can  be  just  as  sorry  for  me ! 
He  loved  us  both,  and  why  should  we  quarrel !  A  man 
is  ever  like  that — just  chancy  and  changeful — but  he 
tried  his  honest  hardest  not  to  love  me — yes,  he  tried 
hard  ! — it  was  my  fault !  for  I  never  tried ! — I  loved  him ! 
— and  I'll  love  him,  till  I  go  where  he  is  gone!  And 
we'll  see  who  God'll  give  his  soul  to !  " 
This  was  too  much  for  the  curate. 
"  Woman !  "  he  thundered,  "  Be  silent !  How  dare 
you  boast  of  your  sin  at  such  a  time,  and  in  such  a  place ! 
Take  her  away  from  that  coffin,  some  of  you !  " 

So  he  commanded,  but  still  not  a  man  moved.  The 
curate  began  to  lose  temper  in  earnest. 

"  Take  her  away,  I  tell  you,"  and  he  advanced  a  step 
or  two,  "  I  cannot  permit  such  a  scandalous  interrup- 
tion of  this  service !  " 

"  Patience,  patience,  measter,"  said  one  of  the  men 
standing  by,  "  When  a  woman's  heart's  broke  in  two 
ways  it  ain't  no  use  worrying  her.  She'll  come  right 
of  herself  in  a  minute." 

But  the  curate,  never  famous  for  forbearance  at  any 
time,  was  not  to  be  tampered  with.  Turning  to  his 
verger  he  said, 

"  I  refuse  to  go  on !     The  woman  is  drunk !  " 
But  now  the  widow  of  the  dead  man  suddenly  took 
up  the  argument  in  a  shrill  voice  which  almost  tore  the 
air  to  shreds. 

"  She's  no  more  drunk  than  you  are !  "  she  cried  pas- 
sionately, "  Leave  her  alone !  You're  a  nice  sort  of  God's 
serving  man  to  comfort  we,  when  we're  all  nigh  on  los- 
ing our  wits  over  this  mornin'  o'  misery,  shame  on  ye! 
Mary  Bell,  come  here !  If  so  be  as  my  husband  was  your 
sweetheart,  God  forgive  him,  ye  shall  come  home  wi' 
me! — and  we'll  never  have  a  word  agin  the  man  who  is 
lying  dead  there.  Come  wi'  me,  Mary !  " 

With  a  wild  cry  of  anguish,  the  girl  rushed  into  her 
arms,  and  the  two  women  clung  together  like  sisters 
united  in  the  same  passionate  grief.  The  curate  turned 
a  livid  white. 


264  The  Master-Christian. 

"  I  cannot  countenance  such  immorality,"  he  said,  ad- 
dressing the  verger,  though  his  words  were  heard  by  all 
present,  "  Enough  of  the  service  has  been  said !  Lower 
the  coffins  into  the  earth !  "  and  turning  on  his  heel  he 
prepared  to  walk  away.  But  Aubrey  Leigh  stopped  him. 

"  You  will  not  finish  the  service,  sir?  "  he  asked  civilly, 
but  with  something  of  a  warning  in  the  flash  of  his  eyes. 

"  No !  The  principal  part  of  it  is  over.  I  cannot  go 
on.  These  women  are  drunk !  " 

"  They  are  not  drunk,  save  with  their  own  tears !  "  said 
Aubrey,  his  rich  voice  trembling  with  indignation. 
"  They  are  not  mad,  except  with  grief !  Is  it  not  your 
place  to  be  patient  with  them  ?  " 

"  My  place !  My  place !  "  echoed  the  curate  indig- 
nantly, "  Man,  do  you  know  to  whom  you  are  talking?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  answered  Aubrey  steadily,  "  I  am  talk- 
ing to  a  professed  servant  of  Christ, — Christ  who  had 
patience  and  pardon  for  all  men !  I  am  talking  to  one 
whose  calling  and  vocation  it  is  to  love,  to  forgive,  and 
to  forbear — whose  absolute  protestation  has  been  made 
at  the  altar  of  God  that  he  will  faithfully  obey  his  Mas- 
ter. Even  if  these  unhappy  women  were  drunk,  which 
they  are  not,  their  fault  in  conduct  would  not  release  you 
from  the  performance  of  your  duty, — or  the  reverence 
you  are  bound  to  show  towards  the  dead !  " 

Trembling  with  rage,  the  curate  eyed  him  up  and  down 
scornfully. 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  about  my  duty !  You 
common  lout !  Mind  your  own  business !  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Aubrey,  fixing  his  eyes  full  upon  him, 
"  And  it  shall  be  my  business  to  see  that  you  mind  yours ! 
Both  your  rector  and  bishop  shall  hear  of  this !  " 

He  strode  off,  leaving  the  curate  speechless  with  fury ; 
and  joining  the  little  crowd  of  mourners  who  had  been 
startled  and  interrupted  by  this  unexpected  scene,  drew 
a  prayer  book  from  his  pocket,  and  without  asking  any- 
one's permission  read  with  exquisite  gravity  and  pathos 
the  concluding  words  of  the  funeral  service, — and  then 
with  his  own  hands  assisted  the  grave-diggers  to  lay  the 
coffined  dead  tenderly  to  rest.  Awestruck,  and  deeply  im- 
pressed by  his  manner  the  fisher-folk  mechanicallv  obeyed 
his  instructions,  and  followed  his  movements  till  all  the 
sad  business  was  over,  and  then  they  lingered  about 


The  Master-Christian.  265 

the  churchyard  wistfully  watching  him,  while  he  in 
turn,  standing  erect  and  bare-headed  near  the  open 
graves,  looked  at  them  with  a  strange  pity,  love  and 
yearning. 

"  It'll  be  all  right  when  our  owld  passon  comes  back," 
said  one  of  the  men  addressing  him,  "  It's  just  this  half 
eddicated  wastrel  of  a  chap  as  doesn't  know,  and  doesn't 
care  for  the  troubles  of  common  folk  like  we." 

Aubrey  was  silent  for  a  space.  "  Common  folk  like 
we !  "  The  words  were  full  of  pathetic  humility,  and  the 
man  who  spoke  them  was  a  hero  of  no  mean  type,  who 
had  often  buffeted  the  winds  and  waves  to  save  a  human 
life  at  the  risk  of  his  own.  "  Common  folk  like  we !  " 
Aubrey  laid  his  hand  gently  on  his  "  mate's  "  shoulder. 

"  Ben,  old  boy,  there  are  no  common  folk  in  God's 
sight,"  he  said,  "  Look  there !  "  and  he  pointed  to  the 
graves  that  \vere  just  beginning  to  be  filled  in,  "  Every 
creature  lying  there  had  as  much  of  God  in  him  as  many 
a  king,  and  perhaps  more.  In  this  majestic  universe  there 
is  nothing  common  !  " 

Ben  shuffled  one  foot  before  the  other  uneasily. 

"  Ay,  ay,  but  there's  few  as  argify  the  way  o'  life  in 
they  lines !  "  he  said,  "  There's  a  many  that  think — but 
there's  a  main  few  that  speak." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Aubrey,  still  keeping  his  hand  on 
Ben's  shoulder,  "  there's  a  main  few  that  speak !  Now, 
/  want  to  speak,  Ben, — I  want  to  have  a  talk  to  you  and 

the  rest  of  our  mates  about well ! — about  the  dangers 

of  the  sea  and  other  things.  Will  you  meet  me  on  the 
shore  this  evening  near  the  quay  and  listen  to  a  word 
or  two  ?  " 

Ben  looked  surprised  but  interested,  and  a  puzzled  smile 
came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Be  ye  a  goin'  to  preach  to  us  like  the  passon  ?  "  he 
said,  "  Or  like  the  fellers  in  the  porter's  caps  as  calls 
themselves  Salvationists  ?  " 

Aubrey  smiled. 

"  No !  I  only  want  to  say  a  few  parting  words  to 
you  all." 

"  Parting  words !  "  echoed  Ben  with  a  stupefied  air. 

"  Yes — I  am  going  away  to-morrow — going  for  good. 
I  have  got  some  other  work  to  do.  But  I  shall  not  for- 
get you  all  ...  and  you  will  hear  of  rne  often, — yes,  you 


266  The  Master-Christian. 

will  hear  of  me ! — and  some  day  I  will  come  back.     But 
to-night  ...  I  should  just  like  to  say  good-bye." 

Ben  was  secretly  much  distressed.  "  Gentleman 
Leigh  "  as  he  was  sometimes  called,  had  greatly  endeared 
himself  to  their  little  community,  and  that  he  should  leave 
them  was  not  at  all  a  desirable  thing,  and  would,  as  Ben 
well  knew,  cause  universal  regret.  But  there  was  no 
time  just  now  for  either  argument  or  protestation,  so  Ben 
accepted  the  blow  as  he  accepted  all  bufferings  of  fate, 
and  merely  said, 

"  All  right !  We'll  be  there  to-night  for  sure !  " 
And  then  Aubrey,  gravely  content,  walked  slowly  out 
of  the  little  churchyard  still  bare-headed,  his  eyes  dark 
with  thought, — and  the  reluctant  sun  came  out  of  the 
gray  sky  and  shone  on  his  pale  face  and  bright  hair — and 
one  or  two  of  the  widowed  women  timidly  touched  his 
arm  as  he  passed,  and  murmured,  "  God  bless  you !  "  And 
Mary  Bell,  the  sorrowful  and  sinning,  clinging  to  the 
waist  of  the  woman  she  had  wronged,  looked  up  at  him 
appealingly  with  the  strained  and  hunted  gaze  of  a  lost 
and  desperate  creature,  and  as  he  met  her  eyes,  turned 
shudderingly  away  and  wept.  And  he,  knowing  that 
words  were  useless,  and  that  even  the  kindliest  looks  must 
wound  in  such  a  case,  passed  on  in  silence,  and  when  he 
reached  his  own  lodging  took  some  of  the  newspapers 
which  spoke  of  himself  and  his  book,  and  after  marking 
certain  passages,  tied  them  up  in  a  packet  and  sent  them 
to 'the  curate  with  whom  he  had  crossed  swords  that 
morning,  accompanied  by  a  note  which  briefly  ran  thus : — 

"  You  asked  me  how  I  'dared  '  to  speak  to  you  about 
your  duty.  I  reply — By  the  force  of  truth  and  the  power 
of  the  pen  I  dare! — and  I  shall  be  ready  to  answer  to 
God  for  it,  as  you  must  answer  to  him  for  leaving  any 
part  of  your  duty  undone. 

"  AUBREY  LEIGH." 

And  the  day  passed  on,  half  in  drifting  clouds,  half  in 
glimpses  of  sunshine,  till  late  afternoon,  when  the  sky 
cleared  altogether,  and  the  waves  sank  to  a  dead  calm ; — 
and  with  the  night  a  shield-like  moon,  all  glistening  pearl 
and  silver,  rose  up  out  of  the  east  with  a  royal  air  of 
white  and  wondering  innocence,  as  though  she  pro- 


The  Master-Christian.  267 

claimed  her  entire  blamelessness  for  any  havoc  wrought 
by  storm.  And  in  the  full  radiance  of  that  silvery  splen- 
dour Aubrey  Leigh,  leaning  against  the  sea-weed  cov- 
ered capstan  of  the  quay,  round  which  coils  of  wet  rope 
glistened  like  the  body  of  a  sleeping  serpent,  told  to  an 
audience  of  human  hearers  for  the  first  time  the  story 
of  his  life,  and  adventures,  and  the  varied  experiences 
he  had  gone  through  in  order  to  arrive  at  some  straight 
and  clear  comprehension  of  "  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and 
the  Life  "  of  the  Gospel  of  Love  and  Mutual  Labour.  His 
practised  voice,  perfect  in  all  modulation,  inflexion,  and 
expression,  carried  each  simple,  well-chosen  word  home 
to  the  hearts  of  his  hearers, — not  one  so  ignorant  as  not 
to  understand  him — not  one  so  blind  as  not  to  see  the 
beauty  of  work  and  creative  effort  as  he  depicted  them, — 
not  one  so  insensate  as  not  to  feel  the  calm,  the  grandeur, 
and  repose  of  the  strong  soul  of  a  man  in  complete 
sympathy  with  his  fellow-men.  They  listened  to  him  al- 
most breathlessly — their  bronzed  weather-beaten  faces  all 
turned  towards  his ;  forgetting  to  smoke,  they  let  their 
pipes  die  out  and  drop  from  their  hands — and  no  inter- 
ruption broke  the  even  flow  and  cadence  of  his  earnest 
language,  save  the  slow  ripple  of  the  water  beating 
against  the  quay,  and  the  faint,  occasional  sigh  of  a  stir- 
ring wind.  Silhouetted  black  against  the  radiant  sky 
were  the  masts  of  the  fishing  fleet,  and  the  roofs  of  the 
fishermen's  cottages — dwellings  so  often  made  desolate 
by  death — and  as  Aubrey  noted  the  fascinated  attention 
with  which  these  rough  men  heard  him,  his  heart  grew 
strong.  "  If  a  few  listen,  so  will  many,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  The  Master  of  our  creed  first  taught  His  divine 
ethics  to  a  few  fishermen, — to  them  the  message  was  first 
given  .  .  .  and  by  them  again  delivered, — and  it  is  through 
our  having  departed  from  the  original  simplicity  of  utter- 
ance that  all  the  evil  has  crept  in.  So  let  me  be  content 
with  this  night's  work  and  await  the  future  with  pa- 
tience." Then  lifting  up  his  voice  once  more  he  said, — 
"  You  think  your  lot  a  hard  one — you,  friends  and 
brothers,  who  set  the  brown  sails  out  to  sea  on  a  night 
of  threatening  storm,  and  bid  farewell  to  your  homes 
built  safe  upon  the  shore.  You  must  meet  all  the  horror 
of  white  foam  and  cloud-blackness,  to  drag  from  the  sea 
its  living  spoil,  and  earn  the  bread  to  keep  yourselves  and 


268  The  Master-Christian. 

those  who  are  dependent  upon  you, — you  must  do  this, 
or  the  Forces  of  Life  will  not  have  you, — they  will  cast 
you  out  and  refuse  to  nourish  you.  For  so  is  your  fate 
in  life,  and  work  ordained.  Then  where  is  God? — you 
cry,  as  the  merciless  billows  rise  to  engulf  your  frail 
craft, — why  should  the  Maker  of  man  so  deliberately  de- 
stroy him?  Why  should  one  human  unit,  doing  nothing, 
and  often  thinking  nothing,  enjoy  hundreds  of  pounds  a 
day,  while  you  face  death  to  win  as  many  pence?  Is 
there  a  God  of  Love  who  permits  this  injustice?  Ah, 
stop  there,  friends!  There  is  no  such  thing  as  injustice! 
Strange  as  it  sounds  to  this  world  of  many  contradictions 
and  perplexities,  I  repeat  there  is  no  such  thing  as  injus- 
tice. There  is  what  seems  injustice — because  we  are  all 
apt  to  consider  the  material  side  of  things  only.  That 
is  where  we  make  our  great  mistake  in  life  and  conduct. 
We  should  all  remember  that  this  world,  and  the  things 
of  this  world,  are  but  the  outward  expression  of  an  in- 
ward soul — the  Matter  evolved  from  Mind — and  that  un- 
less we  are  ourselves  in  harmony  with  the  Mind,  we  shall 
never  understand  the  Matter.  Your  millionaire  is  sur- 
rounded with  luxuries, — your  fishermen  has  dry  bread 
and  herring, — your  millionaire  dies,  with  a  famous  doctor 
counting  his  pulse-beats,  and  a  respectable  clergyman 
promising  him  heaven  on  account  of  the  money  he  has 
left  to  the  church  in  his  will ;  your  fisherman  goes  down 
in  a  swirl  of  black  water,  without  a  prayer — for  he  has 
no  time  to  pray — without  leaving  a  penny  behind  him, 
inasmuch  as  he  has  no  pence  to  leave ;  and  for  both  these 
different  creatures  we  judge  the  end  is  come?  No, — the 
end  is  not  come !  It  is  the  beginning  only !  If  the  mil- 
lionaire has  died  with  a  thousand  selfish  sores  in  his 
mind, — if  his  life's  privileges  have  been  wasted  in  high 
feeding  and  self-indulgence, — if  he  has  thought  only  of 
himself,  his  riches,  his  pride,  his  position,  or  his  partic- 
ular form  of  respectability,  he  will  get  the  full  result  of 
that  mental  attitude !  If  the  fisherman  has  been  content 
with  his  earnings,  and  thanked  God  for  them, — if  he  has 
been  honest,  brave,  true,  and  unselfish,  and  has  shared 
with  others  their  joys  and  sorrows,  and  if  at  the  last  he 
goes  down  in-  the  waves  trying  to  save  some  other  life 
while  losing  his  own, — depend  upon  it  he  will  rise  to  the 
full  splendour  of  that  mental  attitude !  For  both  million- 


The  Master-Christian.  269 

aire  and  fisherman  are  but  men,  made  on  the  same  lines, 
of  the  same  clay,  and  are  each  one,  personally  and  sep- 
arately responsible  to  God  for  the  soul  in  them, — and 
when  both  of  them  pass  from  this  phase  of  being  to  the 
next,  they  will  behold  all  things  with  spiritual  eyes,  not 
material  ones.  And  then  it  may  be  that  the  dark  will 
be  discovered  to  be  the  bright,  and  the  fortunate  prove 
to  be  the  deplorable,  for  at  present  we  '  see  through  a 
glass  darkly,  but  then,  face  to  face.'  The  friends  whom 
we  have  buried  to-day  are  not  dead, — for  death  is  not 
Death,  but  Life.  And  for  those  who  are  left  behind  it  is 
merely  a  time  of  waiting,  for  as  the  Master  said,  '  There 
shall  not  a  hair  of  your  head  perish.  In  your  patience 
possess  ye  your  souls.' ': 

He  paused  a  moment, — the  moon  rays  illumined  his 
delicate  features,  and  a  half  sorrowful  smile  rested  on 
his  lips. 

"  I  am  no  clergyman,  my  friends !  I  have  not  been 
'  ordained  '.  I  am  not  preaching  to  you.  I  will  not  ask 
you  to  be  good  men,  for  there  is  something  effeminate 
in  the  sound  of  such  a  request  made  to  brawny,  strong  fel- 
lows such  as  you  are,  with  an  oath  ready  to  leap  from 
your  lips,  and  a  blow  prepared  to  fly  from  your  fists  on 
provocation.  I  will  merely  say  to  you  that  it  is  a  great 
thing  to  be  a  Man! — a  Man  -as  God  meant  him  to  be, 
brave,  truthful,  and  self-reliant,  with  a  firm  faith  in  the 
Divine  Ordainment  of  Life  as  Life  should  be  lived.  There 
is  no  disgrace  in  work; — no  commonness, — no  meanness. 
Disgrace,  commonness,  and  meanness  are  with  those  who 
pretend  to  work  and  never  do  anything  useful  for  the 
world  they  live  in.  The  king  who  amuses  himself  at  the 
expense  and  ruin  of  his  subjects  is  the  contemptible  per- 
son,— not  the  labourer  who  digs  the  soil  for  the  planting 
of  corn  which  shall  help  to  feed  his  fellows.  And  the 
most  despicable  creature  of  our  time  and  century,  is  not 
the  man  who  doubts  Christ,  or  questions  God — for  Christ 
was  patient  with  the  doubter,  and  God  answers,  through 
the  medium  of  science,  every  honest  question — it  is  the 
man  who  pretends  to  believe  and  lives  on  the  pretence, 
while  his  conduct  gives  the  lie  to  his  profession !  That 
is  why  you — and  why  thousands  of  others  like  you,  are 
beginning  to  look  upon  many  of  the  clergy  w7ith  contempt, 
and  to  treat  their  admonitions  with  indifference.  That  is 


270  The  Master-Christian. 

why  thousands  of  the  rising  generation  of  men  and  wo- 
men will  not  go  to  church.  '  The  parson  does  not  do  any- 
thing for  me,'  is  a  common  every-day  statement.  And 
that  the  parson  should  do  something  is  a  necessary  part 
of  his  business.  His  '  doing '  should  not  consist  in  talk- 
ing platitudes  from  the  pulpit,  or  in  sending  round  a  col- 
lection plate.  And  if  he  has  no  money,  and  will  not  '  sell 
half  that  he  has  and  give  to  the  poor '  as  commanded,  he 
can  at  any  rate  give  sympathy.  But  this  is  precisely  what 
he  chiefly  lacks.  The  parson's  general  attitude  is  one  of 
either  superiority  or  servility, — a  '  looking  down  '  upon 
his  poor  parishoners — a  '  looking  up '  to  his  rich  ones. 
A  disinterested,  loving  observation  of  the  troubles  and 
difficulties  of  others  never  occurs  to  him  as  necessary. 
But  this  was  precisely  the  example  Christ  gave  us — an 
unselfish  example  of  devotion  to  others — a  supreme  de- 
scent of  the  Divine  into  man  to  rescue  and  bless  humanity. 
Now  I  know  all  your  difficulties  and  sorrows, — I  have 
worked  among  you,  and  lived  among  you — and  I  feel 
the  pulse  of  your  existence  beating  in  my  own  heart.  I 
know  that  when  a  great  calamity  overwhelms  you  all  as 
it  has  done  this  week,  you  have  no  one  to  comfort  you, 
— no  one  to  assure  you  that  no  matter  how  strange  and 
impossible  it  seems,  you  have  been  deprived  of  your  as- 
sociates for  some  good  cause  which  will  be  made  manifest 
in  due  season, — that  they  have  probably  been  taken  to 
save  them  from  a  worse  fate  than  the  loss  of  earth-con- 
sciousness in  the  sea.  For  that,  scientifically  speaking, 
is  all  that  death  means — the  loss  of  earth-consciousness, 
— but  the  gain  of  another  consciousness,  whether  of  an- 
other earth  or  a  heaven  none  can  say.  But  there  is  no 
real  death — inasmuch  as  even  a  grain  of  dust  in  the  air 
will  generate  life.  We  must  hold  fast  to  the  Soul  of 
things — the  Soul  which  is  immortal,  not  the  body  which 
is  mortal.  '  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the 
whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul ! '  That  is  what  each 
man  of  us  must  find,  and  hold,  and  keep, — his  own  soul ! 
Apart  from  all  creeds,  and  clergy,  forms  and  rituals — 
that  is  the  vital  matter.  Stand  clear  of  all  things, — all 
alone  if  need  be,  surrounded  by  the  stupendous  forces  of 
this  great  universe, — let  us  find, — each  man  of  us — his 
own  soul ;  find  and  keep  it  brave,  truthful,  upright,  and 
bound  straight  on  for  the  highest, — the  highest  always! 


The  Master-Christian.  271 

And  the  very  stars  in  their  courses  will  help  us — storms 
will  but  strengthen  us — difficulties  but  encourage  us — and 
death  itself  shall  but  give  us  larger  liberty." 

He  ceased,  and  one  by  one  the  men  drew  closer  to  him, 
and  thanked  him,  in  voices  that  were  tremulous  with  the 
emotion  he  had  raised  in  them.  The  instinct  which  had 
led  them  to  call  him  "  Gentleman  Leigh  "  had  proved  cor- 
rect,— and  there  was  not  a  man  among  them  all  who  did 
not  feel  a  thrill  of  almost  fraternal  pride  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  dauntless,  hard-working  "  mate  "  who  had 
fronted  tempests  with  them,  and  worked  with  them  in  all 
weathers,  had  without  any  boast  or  loquacious  prepara- 
tion, made  his  name  famous  and  fit  for  discussion  in  the 
great  world  of  London  far  away,  a  world  to  which  none 
of  them  had  ever  journeyed.  And  they  pressed  round 
him  and  shook  his  hand,  and  gave  him  simple  yet  hearty 
words  of  cheer  and  goodwill,  together  with  unaffected  ex- 
pressions of  regret  that  he  was  leaving  them, — "  though 
for  that  matter,"  said  one  of  them,  "  we  allus  felt  you 
was  a  scholard-like,  for  all  that  you  was  so  handy  at  the 
nets.  For  never  did  a  bit  of  shell  or  weed  come  up  from 
the  sea  but  ye  was  a  lookin'  at  it  as  if  God  had  throwed 
it  to  yer  for  particular  notice.  And  when  a  man  takes  to 
obsarvin'  common  things  as  if  they  were  special  birth- 
day presents  from  the  Almighty,  ye  may  be  pretty  sure 
there's  something  out  of  the  ordinary  in  him !  " 

Aubrey  smiled,  and  pressed  the  hand  of  this  roughly 
eloquent  speaker, — and  then  they  all  walked  with  him  up 
from  the  shore  to  the  little  cottage  where  he  had  lived  for 
so  many  months,  and  at  the  gate  of  which  he  bade  them 
farewell. 

"  But  only  for  a  time,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  see  you  all 
again.  And  you  will  hear  of  me !  " 

''  Ay.  ay,  we'll  hear  of  ye — for  we'll  take  the  papers  in 
just  for  news  of  yer !  "  said  Ben,  with  a  rough  laugh 
which  covered  his  deeper  feelings,  "  And  mebbe  ye'll  come 
back  afore  we's  all  drownded !  " 

And  so  with  a  few  more  kindly  words  they  left  him, 
and  he  stood  at  the  gate  watching  their  stalwart  figures 
disappear  down  the  different  windings  of  the  crooked  and 
picturesque  little  street. 

"  God  bless  them  all !  "  he  murmured,  "  They  have 
taught  me  many  a  grand  lesson !  " 


272  The  Master-Christian. 

The  next  day  he  took  his  quiet  departure  in  the  early 
morning  before  the  village  folks  were  up  and  stirring, — 
and  a  month  later  he  addressed  a  large  meeting  in  one 
of  the  poorest  and  most  densely  populated  districts  of 
London  on  "  The  Ethics  of  Christ  versus  the  Clergy  ", 
which  attracted  universal  attention  and  created  an  enor- 
mous sensation.  His  book  began  to  sell  in  thousands 
where  it  had  previously  sold  in  hundreds,  and  he  earned 
sufficient  from  the  profits  of  the  sale  to  keep  him  going 
in  the  simple  fashion  of  clothes  and  food  to  which  he 
had  strictly  disciplined  himself,  so  that  he  felt  free  to 
plunge  into  the  thick  of  the  fight.  And  he  straightway 
did  so.  His  name  became  a  terror  to  liars,  and  a  clarion 
sound  of  alarm  in  the  ears  of  social  hypocrites.  He  wrote 
another  book  which  obtained  even  a  larger  hearing  than 
the  first — and  he  spoke  to  the  people  on  an  average  once 
a  week,  wherever  he  could  assemble  them  together.  All 
his  addresses  were  made  gratuitously,  and  he  soon  re- 
sembled a  sort  of  blazing  torch  in  the  darkness,  to  which 
the  crowds  rushed  for  light  and  leading.  In  the  midst  of 
the  sensation  his  writings  and  orations  were  creating,  a 
noble  lord,  with  several  Church  livings  in  his  gift,  asked 
him  to  stand  for  Parliament,  and  offered  to  pay  the  ex- 
penses of  his  election.  At  first  Aubrey  was  sufficiently 
tempted  by  the  offer  to  pause  hesitatingly  on  the  verge  of 
acceptance,  but  twenty-four  hours'  hard  thinking 
promptly  pulled  him  together.  "  No,"  he  said — "  I  see 
what  you  mean!  You  and  your  party  wish  to  tie  my 
hands — to  gag  my  mouth,  and  make  me  as  one  of  your- 
selves— no,  I  will  not  consent  to  it.  I  will  serve  the  peo- 
ple with  all  my  life  and  soul ! — but  not  in  your  way !  " 

And  to  avoid  further  discussion  he  went  straight  out 
of  England  for  a  time,  and  travelled  through  Europe, 
making  friends  everywhere,  and  learning  new  phases  of 
the  "  Christian  Dispensation  "  at  every  turn  in  his  road. 
Paris  had  held  him  fascinated  for  a  long  while,  not  only 
because  he  saw  her  doom  written  like  that  of  Babylon  in 
letters  of  fire,  and  Ruin,  like  a  giant  bird  of  prey  hover- 
ing over  her  with  beak  and  claw  prepared  to  pick  the 
very  flesh  from  her  bones, — but  also  because  he  had  met 
Angela  Sovrani,  one  of  the  most  rarely-gifted  types  of 
womanhood  he  had  ever  seen.  He  recognised  her  genius 
at  once,  and  marvelled  at  it.  And  still  more  did  he  mar- 


The  Master-Christian.  273 

vel  at  her  engagement  of  marriage  with  Florian  Varillo.. 
That  such  a  fair,  proud  creature  so  splendidly  endowed, 
could  consent  to  unite  herself  to  a  man  so  vastly  inferior, 
was  an  interesting  puzzle  to  him.  He  had  met  Varillo 
by  chance  in  Naples  one  winter  before  he  ever  saw  An- 
gela, and  knew  that  half  his  claim  to  the  notice  of  the 
social  world  there  was  the  fact  of  his  betrothal  to  the  fa- 
mous "  Sovrani."  And  moved  by  a  strange  desire  to 
follow  out  this  romance,  and  also  because  he  was  complet- 
ing his  studies  of  the  Roman  Church  viewed  as  a  "  moral 
support  to  the  education  and  elevation  of  man,"  he,  after 
leaving  Paris,  and  paying  a  brief  visit  to  Florence  on  a 
matter  of  business  which  could  not  be  attended  to  other- 
wise than  personally,  went  on  as  though  drawn  by  some 
invisible  magnet  to  Rome.  He  had  only  been  twenty- 
four  hours  in  the  city,  when  chance  had  led  him  under  the 
balcony  where  the  sculptured  angels  fronted  the  moon, 
and  from  whence  the  sweet  voice  of  Sylvie  Hermenstein 
had  floated  towards  him  with  the  words, — 

"  Ti  voglio  ben  assai, 
E  tu  non  pensi  a  me." 

And  he  who  had  faced  crowds  without  a  tremor,  and  had 
flung  thunderbolts  of  splendid  defiance  at  shams,  with  the 
manner  of  a  young  Ajax  defying  the  lightning,  now 
found  himself  strangely  put  out  and  disturbed  in  his 
usual  composure  by  the  innocent  aspect,  and  harmless  per- 
fume of  a  rose, — a  mere  little  pink  petalled  thing,  with 
not  even  a  thorn  on  its  polished  green  stalk !  He  had 
placed  it  in  a  glass  of  water  on  his  writing  table,  and  his 
eyes  rested  upon  it  the  morning  after  he  had  received  it 
with  almost  a  reproachful  air.  What  was  its  golden- 
hearted  secret?  Why,  when  he  studied  it,  'did  he  see 
the  soft  hue  of  a  fair  cheek,  the  flash  of  a  bright  eye, 
the  drooping  wave  of  a  golden  web  of  hair,  the  dainty 
curve  of  a  white  arm  on  which  the  sparkle  of  diamonds 
gleamed?  How  was  it  that  he  managed  to  perceive  all 
this  in  the  leaves  of  a  rose  ?  He  could  not  tell ;  and  he 
was  angry  with  himself  for  his  inability  to  explain  the 
puzzle.  He  reminded  himself  that  he  had  business  in 
Rome — "  business,"  he  repeated  sternly  to  his  own  con- 
science,— the  chief  part  of  which  was  to  ascertain  from 
some  one  of  the  leading  spirits  at  the  Vatican  the  view 


274  The  Master-Christian. 

.taken  by  the  Papacy  of  the  Ritualistic  movement  in  Eng- 
land. 

"  If  you  can  gauge  correctly  the  real  feeling,  and  ren- 
der it  in  plain  terms,  apart  from  all  conventional  or  so- 
cial considerations,"  wrote  his  publisher  in  a  letter  which 
had  just  reached  him — "  that  is,  if  you  dare  to  do  so 
much — and  I  think  you  will  scarcely  hesitate — you  will 
undoubtedly  give  great  and  lasting  help  to  Christian  Eng- 
land." As  he  read  this  over  for  the  second  or  third 
time  he  remembered  that  he  had  an  appointment  with 
a  certain  powerful  personage,  known  as  Monsignor 
Gherardi,  that  morning  at  eleven. 

"  And  you,"  he  said,  apostrophising  the  rose  with  a 
protesting  shake  of  his  head,  "  were  nearly  making  me 
forget  it !  "  He  lifted  the  flower  out  of  the  water  and 
touched  it  with  his  lips.  "  She  was  a  fair  creature, — the 
woman  who  wore  you  last  night !  " —  he  said  with  a  smile 
as  he  put  it  carefully  back  again  in  its  glass,  "  In  fact, 
she  was  very  much  like  you !  But  though  I  notice  you 
have  no  thorns,  I  dare  say  she  has !  "  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment, lost  in  thought,  the  smile 'still  giving  warmth  and 
light  to  his  features ;  then  with  a  quick  movement  of  im- 
patience at  his  own  delaying,  threw  on  his  coat  and  hat 
and  left  the  room,  saying,  "  Now  for  Gherardi !  " 


XIX. 

SET  square  and  dark  against  the  pale  blue  of  the  Ital- 
ian sky  the  Palazzo  Sovrani,  seen  for  the  first  time,  sug- 
gests a  prison  rather  than  a  dwelling  house, — a  forbid- 
ding structure,  which  though  of  unsentient  marble,  seems 
visibly  to  frown  into  the  light,  and  exhale  from  itself  a 
cloud  on  the  clearest  day.  Its  lowest  windows,  raised 
several  feet  from  the  ground,  and  barred  across  with 
huge  iron  clamps,  altogether  deprive  the  would-be  in- 
quisitive stranger  from  the  possibility  of  peering  within, 
— the  monstrous  iron  gate,  richly  wrought  with  fantastic 
scroll-work  and  heraldic  emblems  raised  in  brass,  pre- 
sents so  cold  and  forbidding  a  front  that  some  of  the 
youthful  ladies  who  were  Angela's  friends,  were  wont  to 
declare  that  it  gave  them  a  palpitation  of  the  heart  to  sum- 
mon up  the  necessary  courage  required  to  ring  the  great 
bell.  Within  the  house  there  was  much  of  a  similar 
gloom,  save  in  Angela's  own  studio,  which  she  had  her- 
self made  beautiful  with  a  brightness  and  lightness  found 
in  no  other  corner  of  the  vast  and  stately  abode.  Her 
father,  Prince  Pietro  Sovrani,  was  of  a  reserved  and 
taciturn  nature, — poor  but  intensely  proud — and  he 
would  suffer  no  interference  by  so  much  as  a  word  or  a 
suggestion  respecting  the  manner  in  which  he  chose  to 
arrange  or  to  order  his  household.  His  wife  Gita  Bon- 
pre,  the  only  sister  of  the  good  Cardinal,  had  been  the 
one  love  of  his  life, — and  when  she  died  all  his  happiness 
had  died  with  her, — his  heart  was  broken,  but  he  showed 
nothing  of  his  grief  to  the  outside  world,  save  that  in 
manner  he  was  more  silent  and  reserved  than  ever, — more 
difficult  to  deal  with, — more  dangerous  to  approach. 
People  knew  well  enough  that  he  was  poor,  but  they 
never  dared  to  mention  it, — though  once  an  English  ac- 
quaintance, moved  by  the  best  intentions  in  the  world, 
had  suggested  that  he  could  make  a  good  deal  of  'money 
by  having  a  portion  of  the  Palazzo  Sovrani  redecorated, 
and  modernized,  to  suit  the  comfort  and  convenience  of 

275 


276 


The  Master-Christian. 


travelling  millionaires  who  might  probably  be  disposed  to 
pay  a  high  rent  for  it  during  the  Roman  "  season."  But 
the  proposal  was  disastrous  in  its  results.  Sovrani  had 
turned  upon  his  adviser  like  an  embodied  thunder-cloud. 

"  When  a  prince  of  the  House  of  Sovrani  lets  out  apart- 
ments," he  said,  "  you  may  ask  your  English  Queen  to 
take  in  washing !  " 

And  a  saturnine  smile,  accompanied  by  the  frowning 
bend  of  his  white  fuzzy  eyebrows  over  his  flashing  black 
eyes,  had  produced  such  a  withering,  blistering  effect  on 
the  soul  of  the  unfortunate  Englishman,  whose  practical 
ideas  of  utility  had  exceeded  his  prudence,  that  he  had 
scarcely  ever  dared  to  look  the  irate  Italian  noble  in  the 
face  again. 

Just  now,  the  Prince  was  in  his  library,  seated  in  dig- 
nified uprightness  like  a  king  enthroned  to  give  audience, 
in  a  huge  high-backed  chair,  shadowed  over  by  an  an- 
cient gilded  baldacchino,  listening  with  a  certain  amount 
of  grim  patience  to  his  daughter's  softly  murmured  nar- 
rative of  her  stay  in  Paris.  He  had  received  the  Car- 
dinal an  hour  ago  on  his  arrival,  with  first,  a  humble 
genuflexion  as  became  a  son  of  the  Church,  and  secondly 
with  a  kiss  on  both  cheeks  as  became  a  brother-in-law. 
The.  Cardinal's  youthful  companion  Manuel,  he  had 
scarcely  remarked,  even  while  giving  him  welcome. 
These  two  had  gone  to  the  suite  of  rooms  prepared  for  the 
reception  of  His  Eminence, — but  Angela,  after  hastily 
changing  her  travelling  dress,  had  come  down  to  her 
father,  anxious  not  only  to  give,  but  to  hear  news — 
especially  news  of  Florian  Varillo.  Prince  Sovrani,  how- 
ever, was  not  a  man  given  to  much  social  observation, — 
nor  did  he  ever  break  through  his  half  cynical,  half 
gloomy  humour,  to  detail  the  gossip  of  Rome,  and  he 
therefore  sat  more  or  less  unmoved,  while  Angela  told 
him  all  she  could  think  of  that  would  interest  him.  At 
last  with  a  little  delicate  hesitation,  she  related  the  strange 
story  of  Abbe  Vergniaud,  and  added, 

"  And  by  this  time,  I  suppose,  the  Holy  Father  has  been 
told  all !  " 

"  Naturally,"  said  the  Prince,  with  a  stern  smile  mov- 
ing the  hard  muscles  of  his  mouth,  "  Moretti's  love  of 
scandal  is  as  deep  as  that  of  any  old  woman ! — and  the 
joy  of  excommunicating  a  soul  from  the  salvation  of  the 


The  Master-Christian.  277 

Church  must  be  too  exquisite'to  admit  of  any  delay!  I 
am  sorry  for  Yergniaud,  but  I  do  not  think  he  will  suf- 
fer much.  These  things  are  scarcely  ever  noticed  in  the 
press  nowadays,  and  it  will  only  be  a  very  limited  circle 
that  even  learns  of  his  excommunication.  Nevertheless, 
I  am  sorry — one  is  always  sorry  for  brave  men,  even  if 
they  are  reckless.  And  the  son  is  Gys  Grandit!  Corpo 
di  Bacco !  What  a  denouement !  " 

He  considered  it  a  moment,  looking  straight  before 
him  at  the  rows  of  ancient  and  musty  books  that  adorned 
his  walls, — then  he  gave  a  sudden  exclamation. 

"  Pesta !  I  had  nearly  forgotten !  I  knew  there  was 
a  curious  thing  I  had  to  tell  you,  Angela, — but  in  the 
hurry  of  your  arrival  it  had  for  the  moment  escaped  my 
mind  .  .  ." 

"  About  Florian  ?  "  asked  Angela  anxiously. 

The  Prince  bent  his  brows  upon  her  quizzically. 

"  Florian !  What  should  I  know  about  Florian  ?  He 
has  not  been  near  me  since  you  left  Rome.  I  fancy  he 
will  not  be  too  attentive  a  son-in-law!  No,  it  is  not 
about  Florian.  It  is  about  your  uncle  Felix.  Have  you 
heard  of  this  miracle  he  has  performed?" 

Angela's  eyes  opened  wide. 

"A  miracle!     What  do  you  mean  by  a  miracle?/' 

"  Santissiina  Madonna!  A  miracle  is  always  a  mir- 
acle," retorted  her  father  testily,  "  A  something  out  of 
the  common,  and  an  upsetting  of  the  ordinary  laws  of 
nature.  Did  your  uncle  tell  you  nothing  of  his  visit  to 
Rouen  ?  " 

"  Xothing,"  replied  Angela,  "  Nothing  but  the  story  of 
Manuel." 

"  Manuel?     Who  is  he?" 

'  The  boy  he  has  with  him  now.  Uncle  Felix  found 
him  lost  at  night  near  the  Cathedral  of  Rouen,  and  has 
taken  him  under  his  protection  ever  since." 

"  Altrb!  That  is  nothing!  "  said  her  father,  "  That  is 
only  one  of  Felix's  quixotic  ideas.  There  is  no  miracle 
in  that.  But  when  a  child  is  a  cripple  from  babyhood, 
and  our  Felix  cures  him  by  one  simple  prayer,  and 
makes  him  strong  and  well  again — Gran  Dio! — it  is 
not  remarkable  that  such  news  creates  a  stir  at  the 
Vatican." 

"  But    it    cannot    be    true ! "    said    Angela    surprised, 


278  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Uncle  Felix  never  said  a  word  about  it.  I  am  sure  he 
knows  nothing  whatever  of  such  a  report !  " 

"  Ebb  en!  We  will  ask  him  presently," — and  the 
Prince  raised  himself  stiffly  and  slowly  out  of  his  throne- 
like  chair,  "  Personally  I  have  considered  Felix  above 
any  sort  of  priestly  trickery ;  but  after  all,  if  he  has  an 
ambition  for  the  Papacy,  I  do  not  see  why  he  should  not 
play  for  it.  Others  do !  " 

"  Oh,  father !  "  cried  Angela,  "  How  can  you  think  such 
a  thing  of  Uncle  Felix!  He  is  as  nearly  a  saint  as  any 
mortal  man  can  be !  " 

"  So  I  always  thought,  child — so  I  always  thought !  " 
replied  the  Prince,  with  a  vexed  air,  "  But  to  perform 
such  a  miracle  of  healing  as  to  cure  a  child  with  a  twisted 
spine  and  bent  legs,  by  the  mere  utterance  of  a  prayer ! — 
that  is  impossible ! — impossible !  It  sounds  like  charla- 
tanism— not  like  Felix !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  straightened  himself  and  stood  upright, 
a  tall,  spare,  elegant  figure  of  a  man, — his  dark  complex- 
ioned  face  very  much  resembling  a  fine  bronze  cast  of  the 
Emperor  Aurelius.  Angela  rose  too  and  stood  beside 
him,  and  his  always  more  or  less  defiant  eyes  slowly 
softened  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  you  grow  very  like  your  mother,"  he  said,  with  just 
the  faintest  tremor  in  his  voice — "  Ah,  la  inia  Gita!  " 

A  sigh  that  was  like  a  groan  broke  from  his  lips,  and 
Angela  laid  her  head  caressingly  against  his  breast  in 
silence.  He  touched  her  soft  hair  tenderly. 

"Very  like  your  mother,"  he  repeated,  "Very  like! 
But  you  will  leave  me  soon,  as  she  has  left  me, — not  for 
Heaven,  no ! — but  for  that  doubtful  new  life  called  mar- 
riage. It  is  not  doubtful  when  there  is  love — love  in 
both  hearts ; — and  if  there  is  any  difference  at  all,  the 
love  should  be  greater  on  the  man's  side  than  on  the 
woman's!  Remember  that,  Angela  inia,  remember  that! 
The  true  lover  is  always  spiritually  on  his  knees  before 
the  woman  he  loves;  not  only  in  passion,  but  in  worship 
— in  reverence !  " 

"  And  is  not  Florian  so  ?  "  murmured  Angela  timidly. 

"  I  do  not  know,  child ;  he  may  be !  Sometimes  I  think 
that  he  loves  himself  too  much  to  love  you  as  well  as  you 
deserve.  But  we  shall  see." 

As  he  spoke  a  servant  entered,  carrying  an  exquisite 


The  Master-Christian.  279 

basket  of  flowers,  and  brought  it  to  Angela  who  blushed 
and  smiled  divinely  as  she  took  it  and  opened  the  en- 
velope fastened  to  its  handle  and  addressed  to  her,  which 
contained  merely  these  words, — 

"A    la    mia    dolcczzal     Con    voto    d'eterno    amor  el 

"  FLORIAN." 

"  Are  they  not  lovely  ?  "  she  said,  bending  over  the 
blossoms  tenderly  as  though  she  would  have  taken  them 
all  into  her  embrace,  "  Such  a  sweet  welcome  home !  " 

Her  father  nodded,  but  gave  no  verbal  response  to  her 
enthusiasm.  Presently  he  said, 

"  How  about  your  picture  ?  When  will  it  be  fin- 
ished?" 

"  A  month's  work  will  be  enough  now,"  she  replied, 
looking  up  quickly — "  And  then " 

'  Then  it  will  remain  in  one  of  the  galleries  unsold !  " 
said  Sovrani,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  tone  which 
he  could  not  quell,  "  You  have  chosen  too  large  a  canvas. 
From  mere  size  it  is  unsaleable, — for  unless  it  were  a  mar- 
vel of  the  world  no  nation  would  ever  purchase  a  woman's 
picture." 

Angela's  delicate  head  drooped, — she  turned  away  to 
hide  the  tears  that  rushed  to  her  eyes.  Her  father's 
words  were  harsh,  yet  eminently  practical;  she  knew  he 
did  not  mean  them  unkindly,  but  that  the  continual  pinch 
of  poverty  was  sometimes  greater  than  he  could  endure 
with  patience.  Angela  had  earned  considerable  sums 
of  money  by  the  smaller  pictures  which  had  established 
her  name ;  and  the  Prince  had  bitterly  grudged  the  time 
she  had  given  to  the  enormous  canvas  which  had  now  re- 
mained so  long  in  her  studio  covered  up,  even  from  his 
eyes — for  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  it  was  one  of 
those  fantastic  dreams  of  genius,  which  when  they  be- 
come realised  into  the  substance  of  a  book  or  a  picture, 
terrify  the  timid  conventions  of  the  world  so  completely 
as  to  cause  general  avoidance. 

"  If  Raffaelle  were  alive  he  would  not  paint  a  '  Trans- 
figuration '  now,"  he  was  wont  to  say,  "  The  Church  no 
longer  employs  great  artists.  It  keeps  its  money  for 
speculation  purposes.  If  a  Michael  Angelo  were  in  Rome 
he  would  find  nothing  to  do." 


280  The  Master-Christian. 

Which  statement  was  true  enough.  For  the  modern 
Italian  loves  money  next  to  his  own  precious  skin,  and 
everything  beautiful  or  sacred  is  sacrificed  to  this  insati- 
able craze.  There  is  no  love,  no  honour,  no  patriotism  in 
Italy  without  careful  calculation  as  to  the  cost  of  in- 
dulging in  these  sentiments, — and  what  wreck  of  religion 
is  left  merely  panders  to  the  low  melodramatic  temper  of 
an  ignorant  populace.  Art  is  at  its  lowest  ebb;  it  can- 
not live  without  encouragement  and  support — and  it  is 
difficult  for  even  the  most  enthusiastic  creator  in  marble 
or  colour  to  carry  out  glorious  conceptions  for  an  in- 
glorious country.  But  Angela  Sovrani — ambitious  An- 
gela,— was  not  painting  for  "Italy.  She  was  painting  for 
the  whole  world.  She  had  dreams  of  seeing  her  great 
picture  borne  away  out  of  Rome  to  Paris,  and  London,  to 
be  gazed  upon  by  thousands  who  would  take  its  lesson 
home  to  their  hearts  and  lives.  Italy  was  merely  a  vil- 
lage in  the  area  of  her  aspiring  mind ;  but  she  built  her 
"  castles  m  the  air  "  alone ;  and  never  by  so  much  as  the 
smallest  hint  allowed  anyone  to  guess  the  far  reaching 
scope  of  her  intentions.  Truth  to  tell,  she  had  obtained 
very  little  encouragement  during  her  long  days  and 
months  of  work,  though  in  the  sweetness  of  her  nature 
she  pleased  herself  by  imagining  that  Florian  Varillo 
gave  her  a  complete  and  perfect  sympathy.  Yet  even 
with  Florian,  one  or  two  casual  remarks  he  had  let  fall 
lightly  and  unthinkingly,  had  vaguely  startled  her,  and 
set  her  wondering,  "  Perhaps  he  does  not  think  much  of 
my  abilities  after  all  " — and  had  caused  her  for  once  to 
be  closely  reserved  upon  the  subject  and  treatment  of  her 
work,  and  to  refuse  a  glimpse  of  it  even  to  him  who  was 
her  elect  Beloved.  She  had  thought  he  would  perhaps 
have  been  pained  at  this  inviolate  secrecy  on  her  part, — 
she  had  feared  he  might  take  offence  at  finding  the  doors 
of  her  studio  always  locked, — but  on  the  contrary  he  ap- 
peared quite  amused  at  her  uncommunicative  humour, 
and  jested  about  it  as  if  she  were  a  little  child  playing  in 
a  dark  corner  at  some  forbidden  game.  She  was  some- 
what surprised  at  this, — the  more  so  as  he  frequently 
spoke  of  the  importance  of  his  own  pictures  for  the  Ro- 
man "  Art  Season," — pictures  to  which  he  really  gave  the 
attentive  discussion  and  consideration  a  man  always  be- 
stows on  matters  of  his  personal  business — but  often 


The  Master-Christian.  281 

when  Angela's  work  was  spoken  of,  he  smiled  with  a 
kindly  tolerance,  as  one  who  should  say,  "  Dear  girl ! 
How  sweetly  she  embroiders  her  simple  sampler !  "  And 
yet  again,  he  never  failed,  when  asked  about  it  in  Angela's 
presence,  to  say  that  he  was  "  sure  Donna  Sovrani  would 
astonish  the  world  by  what  she  was  doing !  "  So  that 
one  never  quite  knew  where' to  have  him,  his  nature  being 
that  curious  compound  of  obsequious  servility  and  in- 
tense self-love  which  so  often  distinguishes  the  Italian 
temperament.  Angela  however  put  every  shadow  of 
either  wonder  or  doubt  as  to  his  views,  entirely  aside, — 
and  worked  on  with  an  earnest  hand  and  trusting  heart, 
faithfully  and  with  a  grand  patience  and  self-control  sel- 
dom found  either  in  masculine  or  feminine  heroes.  Some- 
times her  spirit  sank  a  Tittle,  as  now,  when  her  father 
told  her  that  her  picture  would  remain  unsold  in  one  of 
the  galleries — but  all  the  same,  some  force  within  her 
urged  her  to  go  on  with  her  intention  steadily,  and  leave 
all  results  to  God.  And  the  tears  that  had  sprung  to 
her  eyes  at  the  smart  of  old  Sovrani's  rough  speech, 
soon  returned  to  their  source;  and  she  was  quite  her 
composed  sweet  self  again  when  her  uncle  the  Cardinal, 
accompanied  by  Manuel,  entered  the  room,  holding  an 
open  letter  in  his  hand,  and  looking  strangely  agitated. 

"  Brother,  here  is  a  matter  which  I  cannot  possibly  un- 
derstand," he  said,  "  Monsignor  Gherardi  writes  here  to 
congratulate  me  upon  a  miracle  I  have  worked  in  Rouen ! 
— and  summons  me  at  once  to  the  presence  of  His  Holi- 
ness !  What  can  it  mean  ?  I  have  performed  no  miracle  t 
Surely  some  jest  is  being  played  with  me, — and  one  most 
unbecoming  to  a  man  of  Gherardi's  position  and  influ- 
ence !  " 

Prince  Sovrani  took  the  letter  from  Bonpre's  hand  and 
read  it  in  silence. 

"  Yes 1  have  heard  about  it  already,"  he  said, 

"r.~d  if  you  indeed  know  nothing,  it  is  strange!  But 
can  you  not  remember is  there  no  clue  to  such  a  re- 
port ?  Were  there  no  sick  children  brought  to  you  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  that,"  answered  the  Cardinal  quickly,  "  a 
little  boy  named  Fabien  Doucet,  was  brought  to  me  by  the 
children  of  an  inn-keeper  of  the  Hotel  Poitiers  where  I 
stayed  two  nights,  and  to  grant  their  wishes,  (and  also 
because  it  is  my  duty  to  do  what  I  can  for  the  suffering 


282  The  Master-Christian. 

and  the  afflicted),  I  laid  my  hands  upon  him  and  prayed 
to  our  Lord  that  he  might  be  healed." 

"  Ebbene!  Our  Lord  has  then  healed  him,"  said  Sov- 
rani  drily,  "  It  is  remarkable ! — but  if  the  cure  is  truly  ac- 
complished, we  shall  have  to  admit  that  the  Deity  does 
sometinr^s  pay  attention  to  our  many  prayers,  though 
for  the  most  part  they  appear  to  fall  upon  a  deaf,  dumb, 
and  irresponsive  Silence." 

The  Cardinal  sat  down,  wearily  resting  his  head  on  his 
hand. 

"  I  do  not  like  it!  "  he  said,  "  It  is  altogether  amazing 
to  me ;  it  seems  like  a  snare  set  to  catch  my  soul !  For  I 
have  no  power  to  perform  miracles  ...  I  can  only  pray." 

"  And  why  should  not  your  prayer  be  answered  ?  " 
asked  Manuel  suddenly. 

They  had  all  forgotten  the  boy's  presence  in  the  room, 
and  his  voice  startled  them.  His  young  face  was  pale, 
yet  tranquil — and  the  deep  tenderness  that  always  dwelt 
in  his  eyes  seemed  deeper  and  softer  at  this  moment  than 
ever. 

"  Truly  I  do  not  see  why,"  said  Prince  Sovrani,  bend- 
ing his  fierce  regard  full  on  the  lad  as  he  spoke,  and  be- 
ginning to  wonder  like  the  rest  at  his  fairness  and  beauty, 
"  Only  as  a  rule,  fanciuollo  inio — prayer  is  mere  waste  of 
breath — a  demand  without  supply." 

"  Is  that  not  perhaps  the  fault  of  the  person  who 
prays  ?  "  said  Manuel,  "  May  that  person  not  lack  faith 
and  pure  intention?  May  he  not  even  be  too  self-ab- 
sorbed to  lift  his  soul  high  enough  for  an  approach  to 
God?  When  the  disciples  were  vexed  that  they  could 
not  cure  a  child  that  was  afflicted,  and  saw  that  their 
Master  healed  that  child  at  once,  they  asked  why  they 
were  unable  to  do  what  He  did.  And  He  told  them 
plainly,  '  Because  of  your  unbelief.  For  verily  I  say 
unto  you,  if  ye  have  faith  as  a  grain  of  mustard  seed  ye 
shall  say  unto  this  mountain,  remove  from  yonder  pk.ce, 
and  it  shall  remove,  and  nothing  shall  be  impossible  to 
you.'  And  I  am  sure  that  my  lord  the  Cardinal's  faith 
is  greater  than  a  grain  of  mustard  seed !  " 

They  were  all  silent.  Cardinal  Bonpre  turned  his  eyes 
thoughtfully  on  the  young  speaker 

"  You  were  with  me,  child,  when  the  little  cripple  sat 
on  my  knee  and  held  my  crucifix,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 


The  Master-Christian.  283 

"  You  saw — you  heard  all.  What  did  I  do  ? — what  did 
I  say?" 

"  You  held  him  in  your  arms,  even  as  Christ  took  little 
children  in  His  arms  and  blessed  them,"  replied  Manuel, 
"  And  you  prayed — and  in  your  prayer  you  said — '  King 
and  Master  of  all  such  children,  even  as  Thou  wert  a 
child  Thyself,  be  pleased  to  heal  him  of  his  sad  infirmity. 
For  if  Thou  wilt,  Thou  canst  make  this  bent  body 
straight,  and  these  withered  muscles  strong, — from  death 
itself  Thou  canst  ordain  life,  and  nothing  is  impossible 
unto  Thee !  ' : 

There  was  a  pause.     Then  Manuel  added, — 

'  That  is  what  you  said,  my  lord  Cardinal ; — and  when 
the  child  went  away,  you  told  him  that  if  the  giving  of 
your  own  life  could  make  him  strong,  he  should  have 
that  life  willingly.  Some  people  might  say  that  without 
meaning  it, — but  you  meant  what  you  said, — every  word 
came  straight  from  your  heart.  And  should  it  then  sur- 
prise you  that  God  has  granted  your  prayer  ?  " 

Prince  Sovrani  listened  to  the  dulcet  young  voice  with 
a  strange  emotion.  Something  holy  and  convincing 
seemed  to  emanate  from  the  boy's  very  presence,  and 
though  he,  as  became  a  modern  Italian,  was  thoroughly 
sceptical  and  atheistical,  and  would  have  willingly  argued 
against  the  very  words  of  Christ  as  written  in  the  Gospel, 
some  curious  hesitation  that  was  almost  shamefacedness 
held  him  silent.  But  the  Cardinal  was  even  more 
strongly  moved.  The  earnest  spirit  of  truth  with  which 
Manuel  appeared  always  to  be  environed, — his  simple 
and  straight  enunciation  of  the  old,  oft-quoted  phrases 
used  by  the  Divine  Saviour  of  the  world, — and  then  his 
unfaltering  memory  of  the  simple  prayer  that  had  been 
said  for  the  comfort  of  the  unfortunate  little  Fabien  Dou- 
cet,  together  with  this  strange  and  unexpected  announce- 
ment of  the  child's  miraculous  cure, — these  things  rushed 
over  the  mind  of  the  good  Bonpre  like  an  overwhelming 

flood,  and  confused  his  brain stranga  half-formed 

thoughts  occurred  to  him  that  he  dared  not  express,  chief 
among  which  was  a  vague,  a  terrifying  idea  that  the 
young  boy  beside  him  who  spoke  so  sweetly,  and  almost 
so  commandingly,  must  surely  be  an  Angel !  Strange 
legends  of  the  Church  began  to  recur  to  him ; — legends 
cf  old-time  when  angels  had  descended  to  walk  with 


284  The  Master-Christian. 

priests  in  their  monastic  seclusion,  and  instruct  them  as 
to  the  value  of  time,  as  in  the  "  Legend  Beautiful,"  when 
the  monk  Felix,  being  perplexed  by  the  phrase  "  a  day 
with  God  is  as  a  thousand  years,"  went  to  sleep  in  a 
garden,  soothed  by  the  singing  of  the  birds  at  sunset,  and 
woke  up  to  find  that  in  his  slumber  a  century  had  rolled 
away!  All  manner  of  fantastic  notions  swept  in  upon 
him,  and  he  grew  suddenly  blind  and  dizzy — rising  from 
his  chair  totteringly  he  extended  his  hands — then  sud- 
denly sank  back  again  in  a  dead  faint.  Sovrani  caught 
him  as  he  fell — and  Angela  ran  for  water,  and  tenderly 
bathed  his  forehead  while  Manuel  took  his  hand  and  held 
it  fast. 

"  Too  long  a  journey,  and  too  much  excitement !  "  said 
the  Prince, — "  Our  Felix  is  growing  old, — he  cannot 
stand  fatigue.  He  is  failing  fast !  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Manuel  brightly,  "He  is  not  failing! 
He  is  younger  by  far  than  he  seems!  He  is  too  strong 
to  fail !  " 

And  as  he  spoke  the  Cardinal  opened  his  eyes  and 
smiled  with  an  expression  of  perfect  rapture. 

"Why,  what  has  ailed  me?"  he  enquired,  looking  at 
Angela's  anxious  face,  "  I  had  but  gone  for  a  moment 
into  the  presence  of  my  Lord !  "  Here  he  paused,  and 
then  gradually  recovering  himself  entirely,  sat  upright. 

"  All  is  well  with  me !  "  he  said,  pressing  the  hand 
of  Manuel  in  his  own,  and  releasing  it  again,  "  Do  not 
fret,  Angela, — it  was  the  merest  passing  faintness.  For- 
give me,  brother,  for  alarming  you  thus  foolishly !  As 
for  the  letter  from  the  Vatican  concerning  this  miracle, 
I  must  needs  present  myself  before  His  Holiness  and 
assure  him  that  I  know  nothing  of  it, — that  I  did  no  more 
than  pray — that  I  left  the  crippled  child  still  crippled — 
and  that  if  indeed  it  be  true  he  is  healed,  it  is  by  the 
merciful  act  of  God  and  the  intervention  of  our  Lord 
and  Saviour  Christ,  to  Whom  be  aH  the  praise  and 
glory!" 

He  rose  up  again  from  his  chair  and  stood  full  height, 
— a  grand  and  beautiful  figure  of  noble  old  age,  trans- 
figured by  the  light  of  some  never-aging  thought,  some 
glorious  inspiration.  And  Angela,  who  had  been 
startled  and  alarmed  by  his  sudden  fainting  fit,  was  even 
more  overcome  by  the  sight  of  him  thus  radiant  and  self- 


The  Master-Christian.  285 

possessed,  and  dropping  on  her  knees  she  caught  his 
hand  and  kissed  it,  her  tears  falling  fast.  He  stooped 
and  raised  her. 

"Child,  why  are  you  weeping?"  he  said  tenderly, 
"  Xay,  I  am  not  so  ill  as  you  think  me!  I  am  well — 
strong! — ready  for  the  doing  of  many  things  in  my 
Master's  service!  Pietro,  take  this  dear  girl  and  com- 
fort her !  "  and  he  put  her  gently  into  her  father's  arms 

•"  For  myself,  I  have  work  to  do — work  to  do ! " 

he  repeated  musingly, — "  I  see  trouble  ahead ! — but  I 
shall  face  it — and  if  God  please — overcome  it !  "  His 
eyes  flashed,  and  after  a  moment  he  resumed,  "  I  will 

write  to  Gherardi  now and  to-morrow — to-morrow 

I  will  speak  !  " 

"  Can  I  help  you,  brother  ?  "  asked  the  Prince,  taken 
out  of  himself  by  the  air  of  splendour  and  sovereignty 
which  seemed  to  surround  the  Cardinal  as  with  a  divine 
halo,  "  You  are  fatigued  with  your  journey, — let  me 
write  for  you !  " 

"  No,  Pietro !  I  must  do  this  myself,  and  think  well  of 
all  I  should  say."  He  paused,  then  added,  "  They  tell 
me  Claude  Cazeau,  secretary  to  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen 
brought  the  news  of  this  so-called  miracle  to  Rome.  I 
should  have  liked  to  have  seen  that  man  to-night." 

"  You  will  see  him  at  the  Vatican,"  said  Sovrani,  with 
a  touch  of  irony,  "  That  will  be  time  enough !  Oh,  in- 
nocent Felix !  Do  you  not  see  you  will  be  confronted 
with  Cazeau?  And  that  Gherardi  and  his  set  will  be 
there  to  note  your  every  look  and  gesture,  and  privately 
judge  as  to  whether  you  and  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen 
concocted  the  miracle  between  you !  And  that  if  you 
were  to  see  this  Cazeau  to-night,  that  very  meeting  would 
be  taken  as  a  sign  of  conspiracy !  " 

Over  the  pale  features  of  the  Cardinal  rushed  a  warm 
glow  of  indignation,  but  it  died  away  as  rapidly  as  it  had 
come. 

"  True !  "  he  said  simply,  "  I  forgot !  If  a  good  deed 
is  done  in  the  world  by  the  force  of  the  undefiled  Spirit 
of  Christ,  it  is  judged  as  trickery, — and  we  must  never 
forget  that  even  the  Resurrection  of  our  Blessed  Lord 
from  the  dead  is  believed  by  some  to  be  a  mere  matter 
of  conspiracy  among  His  disciples.  True — I  forgot  the 
blindness, — the  melancholy  blindness  of  the  world!  But 


286  The  Master-Christian. 

we  must  always  say,  '  Father  forgive  them,  for  they  know 
not  what  they  do ! '  I  will  write  to  Gherardi, — and, — if 
you  will  permit  me,  I  will  remain  in  my  own  rooms  to- 
night for  I  must  think  and  pray, — I  must  be  alone  .  .  ." 

"  Without  me,  my  lord  Cardinal  ? "  asked  Manuel 
softly. 

"  No,  not  without  you !  "  and  Bonpre  looked  at  him 
with  a  smile,  "  Not  without  you !  I  have  no  wish  to  be 
so  much  alone  as  your  absence  would  make  me.  Come !  " 

And  lifting  the  heavy  velvet  portiere  at  the  door,  he 
held  it  back  for  his  "  foundling  "  to  pass, — and  then  slowly 
followed. 


XX. 

ON  the  first  floor  of  an  ancient  mansion,  in  a  street 
which  slopes  down  towards  the  Tiber,  there  is  a  suite  of 
dreary  old  rooms  which  must  evidently  have  once  be- 
longed to  some  great  "  Prince  of  the  Church  ",  (to  use 
the  term  which  Cardinal  Bonpre  held  so  much  in  aver- 
sion,) if  one  may  form  any  opinion  from  the  ecclesiastical 
designs  on  the  faded  green  hangings,  which  cling  like 
moss  to  the  damp  walls,  and  give  an  additional  melan- 
choly to  the  general  gloom.  The  "  salon  "  or  audience- 
chamber  is  perhaps  the  best  in  repair,  and  possesses  a 
gorgeous,  painted  ceiling,  bordered  by  a  frieze  of  red  and 
gold,  together  with  one  or  two  large  pictures,  which  per- 
haps if  cleaned  might  show  the  touch  of  some  great  Mas- 
ter, but  which  in  their  sad  condition  of  long  neglect,  pre- 
sent nothing  to  the  view  but  a  dark  blur  of  indistinct  out- 
lines. The  rooms  in  their  entirety  composed  the  busi- 
ness, or  town  dwelling  of  Monsignor  Gherardi,  one  of 
the  cleverest,  most  astute,  and  most  unscrupulous  of  men, 
to  whom  Religion  was  nothing  more  than  a  means  of 
making  money  and  gaining  power.  There  was  scarcely 
a  Roman  Catholic  "  community  "  in  the  world,  in  which 
Gherardi  had  not  a  share ; — and  he  was  particularly  con- 
cerned in  "  miraculous  shrines  ",  which  were  to  him  ex- 
actly in  the  same  category  as  "  companies  "  are  to  the 
speculator  on  the  Stock  Exchange.  He  had  been  cautious, 
prudent,  and  calculating  from  his  earliest  years, — from 
the  time  when,  as  the  last  male  scion  of  the  house  of 
Gherardi  he  had  been  educated  for  the  Ecclesiastical  ca- 
reer at  the  "  College  of  Nobles  ".  He  had  read  widely ; 
and  no  religious  or  social  movement  took  place  any- 
where without  his  knowing  of  it,  and  admitting  it  into  his 
calculations  as  a  sort  of  new  figure  in  his  banking  sum. 
He  was  an  extensive  shareholder  in  the  "  Lourdes  "  busi- 
ness ;  and  a  careful  speculator  in  all  the  religious  frenzies 
of  the  uneducated  and  superstitious.  His  career  had  been 

287 


288  The  Master-Christian. 

very  successful  so  far.  He  had  amassed  a  considerable 
fortune ;  and  away  out  towards  Frascati  he  had  a  superb 
Villa,  furnished  with  every  modern  luxury  and  conveni- 
ence, (not  rented  in  his  own  name,  but  in  that  of  a  man 
whom  he  paid  heavily  to  serve  him  as  his  tool  and  menial,) 
— where  a  beautiful  Neapolitan  danseuse  condescended 
to  live  as  his  mistress; — he  was  a  diplomat  for  himself 
if  not  for  his  country,  and  kept  his  ringer  on  the  pulse 
of  European  politics  as  well  as  on  the  fluctuating  fevers 
of  new  creeds.  But  he  never  troubled  himself  seriously 
as  to  the  possible  growth  of  any  "  movement ",  or  "  so- 
ciety ",  or  "  crusade  " ;  as  experience  had  taught  him  that 
no  matter  how  ardently  thinkers  may  propound  theories, 
and  enthusiasts  support  them,  there  is  always  a  dense 
and  steady  wave  of  opposition  surging  against  every- 
thing new, — and  that  few  can  be  found  whose  patience 
will  hold  out  sufficiently  long  to  enable  them  to  meet 
and  ride  over  that  wet  wall  of  dull  resistance. 

Monsignor  Gherardi  was  a  most  useful  man  at  the 
Vatican,  as  he  never  failed  to  comfort  the  Pope  whenever 
that  Holy  Personage  was  cast  down  or  afraid  of  brood- 
ing disasters.  When  the  Representative  of  the  ever- 
merciful  Christ  ventured  to  give  it  out  as  his  Christian 
opinion  that  the  unhappy  and  maltreated  Dreyfus  would 
be  found  guilty  Monsignor  Gherardi  smilingly  agreed 
with  him.  When  His  Holiness  denounced  Freemasonry 
as  a  wicked  association,  formed  for  atheistical  and  revo- 
lutionary purposes,  Gherardi,  though  he  knew  well  enough 
that  it  was  a  fraternity  formed  for  the  mutual  help  and 
sustainment  of  its  members,  denounced  it  too ; — in  the 
gardens  of  the  Vatican,  but  not  elsewhere.  There  was 
nothing  really  either  in  the  way  of  Freemasonry  or  other 
sort  of  "  society  ",  that  he  was  afraid  of ; — no  anxiety 
whatever  troubled  his  mind,  except  the  possibility 
of  losing  money  by  some  incautious  speculation.  In 
appearance  he  was  an  exceedingly  handsome  man, — tall, 
with  a  fine  figure  and  commanding  features, — physical 
advantages  which  greatly  helped  him  to  enforce  his  spir- 
itual authority.  As  he  sat  in  his  high-backed,  gilded 
chair,  turning  over  papers  on  his  desk,  docketing  this 
and  marking  that  for  reference,  his  dark  eyes  sparkling 
with  avidity  as  he  counted  up  certain  dividends  obtained 
from  mysterious  shares  in  "  miracle  "  health  resorts,  and 


The  Master-Christian.  289 

a  smile  of  satisfaction  playing  on  the  firm,  well-shaped 
curve  of  his  intellectual  but  hard  mouth,  he  looked  an  im- 
posing personage  enough,  of  the  very  type  to  awe  the  weak 
and  timorous.  He  was  much  entertained  on  this  particular 
morning, — one  might  almost  say  he  was  greatly  amused. 
Quite  a  humorous  little  comedy  was  being  played  at  the 
Vatican, — a  mock-solemn  farce,  which  had  the  possibility 
of  ending  in  serious  disaster  to  the  innocent ; — and  he,  as 
a  student  of  the  wily  and  treacherous  side  of  human  na- 
ture, was  rather  interested  in  its  development.  Cardinal 
Felix  Bonpre,  a  man  living  far  away  in  an  obscure  cathe- 
dral-town of  France,  where  he  had  become  renowned  for 
good  works  and  saintly  living,  had  now,  after  many  years, 
come  out  of  his  long  voluntary  retirement,  and  had  per- 
formed a  miracle ! 

"  And  very  well  done  too !  "  murmured  Monsignor 
Gherardi,  smiling  to  himself,  "  Well  prepared,  well 
thought  out,  and  successfully  accomplished!  Our  good 
Felix  is  much  cleverer  than  I  gave  him  credit  for.  First, 
he  w:ins  a  renown  for  good  works, — then  he  starts 
travelling  toward  Rome,  the  Mother  of  our  Faith, — and 
on  his  way  to  the  sacred  city  performs  a  miraculous 
cure !  An  excellent  move !  I  see  a  possibility  of  making 
the  Cathedral  of  Rouen  a  popular  shrine  for  healing. 
Yes,  much  can  be  done  there !  Only  I  am  sorry  that 
Felix  has  made  a  little  mistake  in  Paris — just  a  little 
mistake! — in  that  matter  of  Vergniaud.  And  it  is  ex- 
ceedingly unfortunate  that  the  son  should  turn  out  to  be 
Gys  Grandit.  No  wonder  the  Holy  Father  is  troubled : 
— no  wonder!  It  is  a  little  drama  of  the  age,  and  will 
no  doubt  prove  complex  in  its  movement,  and  worth 
watching."  Here  his  smile  broadened, — and  his  eyes 
glittered  more  keenly  than  ever.  "  Yes ! — it  will  be 
an  excitement ;  and  one  wants  a  little  excitement  now 
and  then  in  the  general  monotony.  Since  Agostino 

preached ; "  here  he  paused,  and  a  dark  contraction 

knitted  his  brows, — "  Let  me  see ! — this  morning,  yes  ! — 
this  morning  I  receive  the  English  socialist  Aubrey 
Leigh." 

He  turned  in  his  chair,  and  glanced  at  the  dial  of  a 
huge  ticking  clock  behind  him,  and  saw  that  the  hands 
were  close  on  the  appointed  hour  of  eleven.  His  smile 
slowly  disappeared,  and  vanished  altogether  in  a  heavy 


290  The  Master-Christian. 

frown.   "  A  dangerous  man !    I  do  not  like  his  book 
it  is  written  in  melodramatic  style,  with  heat  and  with  en- 
thusiasm, and  will  attract  the  vulgar.     He  must  be  sup- 
pressed— but  how  ?  " 

He  rose  and  paced  the  room  slowly,  his  long  white 
hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  and  the  frown  on  his  brows 
deepened; — how  suppress  a  man  who  had  announced 
himself  as  free  of  every  Church  and  Creed,  and  who  was 
resolved  to  stand  by  the  moral  ethics  of  Christ  only?  A 
man  who  desired  nothing  for  himself,  not  even  money; 

"But  stop!"  thought  Gherardi, — "that  is  absurd! 

Every  man  wants  money !  Every  man  must  have  it,  and 
the  more  he  has,  the  more  he  seeks.  There  is  no  one  in 
the  world  who  cannot  be  bought  or  bribed ! " 

At  that  moment  the  green  hangings  of  the  door  were 
lifted,  and  the  Italian  man-servant  announced, — 

"  //  Signor  Aubri  Lee! " 

Gherardi,  who  in  his  pacing  to  and  fro  had  reached  the 
window,  wheeled  round  abruptly  and  faced  his  entering 
visitor.  The  light  fell  aslant  upon  his  stately  figure  as  he 
drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  greeted  Leigh 
with  a  suavely  condescending  bow  and  smile,  while  Au- 
brey in  turn  glanced  him  up  and  down  with  a  pleasurable 
consciousness  of  his  intellectual  appearance,  and  evident 
combative  temperament. 

"  You  are  welcome,  Mr.  Leigh,"  said  Gherardi,  speak- 
ing English  with  a  fluency  of  which  he  was  pardonably 
proud,  "  Your  letter  from  Florence  received  my  instant 
attention,  and  as  you  see,  I  have  made  it  a  point  to  re- 
ceive you  at  once — in  spite  of  pressing  business.  Yes, — 
in  spite  of  pressing  business !  I  confess  I  have  been  cu- 
rious to  see  the  writer  who  has  made  himself  so  obnox- 
ious to  our  dear  friends  and  brothers,  the  English 
clergy ! " 

A  smile  that  was  brilliant,  but  which  conveyed  no 
meaning  whatever,  illumined  his  features ;  but  for  all  re- 
ply to  these  words  Aubrey  simply  bowed  and  remained 
silent.  Gherardi  glanced  at  him  sharply.  Was  he  in- 
timidated already? — overawed  at  being  in  the  presence 
of  one  who  was  known  to  be  a  friend  and  confidant  of  the 
Pope?  No — there  was  nothing  of  fear  or  embarrass- 
ment in  the  composed  attitude,  proud  manner,  and  re- 
served expression  of  this  slim,  muscular  man,  with  the 


The  Master- Christian.  291 

bright  hair  and  keen  eyes, — and  Gherardi  dropped  his 
tone  of  patronage  for  one  of  courtesy. 

"  Pray  sit  down !  "  he  said,  "  I  understand  that  you 
wish  to  obtain  a  private  audience  of  the  Holy  Father. 
That  of  course  is  impossible !  " 

Aubrey  drew  a  chair  slowly  towards  the  desk  where 
Gherardi  had  resumed  his  own  usual  seat,  and  raised  his 
eyes  with  a  curious  look  of  half  satirical  questioning. 

"  Impossible!  "  he  said,  "  And  why?  " 

Gherardi  almost  laughed. 

"Why?  My  dear  sir,  is  it  necessary  to  ask?  Your 
name  is  sufficiently  well-known !  and — I  am  sorry  to  tell 
you  so, — but  it  is  quite  as  unpleasant  at  the  Vatican  as 
that  of  Gys  Grandit !  " 

*'  Gys  Grandit  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  responded  Aubrey 
composedly,  "  In  fact,  I  may  almost  say  he  is  my  disciple. 
I  found  him  working  in  the  fields  as  a  little  peasant  lad, — 
the  love  child,  or  '  bastard/  to  put  it  roughly,  of  some 
priest  whose  name  he  never  told  me.  He  was  helping 
to  earn  daily  bread  for  his  deserted  mother  whose  maiden 
name  he  then  bore ;  and  I  helped  to  train  his  evident 
genius  in  the  way  it  has  since  developed." 

"  I  cannot  congratulate  you  on  your  pupil !  "  said  Gher- 
ardi, smiling  coldly,  "  The  offspring  of  a  priest's  sin  is  not 
likely  to  do  the  world  any  credit.  The  son  of  the  rene- 
gade Abbe  Vergniaud  may  become  notorious,  but  never 
famous !  " 

Aubrey  Leigh  started  up  from  his  chair  doubting 
whether  he  had  heard  aright. 

"  The  son  of  Abbe  Vergniaud !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  Is  it 
possible !  No,  you  must  surely  be  mistaken ! — I  know 
the  Abbe, — I  sawr  him  in  Paris  but  a  fortnight  ago !  " 

"  Indeed !  Well,  since  that  time  strange  things  have 
happened,"  said  Gherardi,  still  preserving  his  calm  in- 
scrutability of  demeanour,  "  We  have  had  our  news  from 
Monsignor  Moretti,  an  envoy  of  ours  in  Paris,  on 
secret  service.  To  put  it  briefly, — Vergniaud,  for  no 
particular  cause  whatever,  save  perhaps  the  idea 
—  (which  may  be  only  an  idea) — that  he  is  going 
to  die  soon,  has  made  a  public  confession  of  his 
twenty-five-year-old  crime  and  hypocrisy,  in  a  blasphe- 
mous address  preached  from  the  pulpit  of  Notre  Dame 
de  Lorette.  The  son,  known  to  the  world  as  Gys  Gran- 


292  The  Master-Christian. 

dit,  was  present  in  the  church,  and  fired  a  pistol  shot  at 
his  father,  hoping  to  murder  him, — then  came  the  the- 
atrical denouement  of  the  whole  scene ; — the  Abbe 
ordered  the  gendarmes  to  release  the  assassin,  pronounc- 
ing him  to  be  his  son.  And  finally — the  saddest  incident 
of  all — there  took  place  the  mutual  pardon  and  reconcilia- 
tion of  both  parties  in  the  presence  of  one  of  our  most 
respected  and  beloved  Princes  of  the  Church,  Cardinal 
Felix  Bonpre,  whose  grave  error  in  this  matter  is  caus- 
ing poignant  and  loving  sorrow  to  the  Holy  Father !  " 

A  curious  expression  began  to  appear  in  the  delicate 
lines  of  Aubrey's  face — an  expression  which  some  of  his 
London  audiences  knew  so  well,  and  which  generally 
meant  war. 

"  You  surprise  me,  Monsignor,"  he  said  in  quiet  ac- 
cents,— "  Events  move  quickly,  I  know,  in  a  quickly  mov- 
ing age, — still  your  news  is  entirely  unexpected.  I  never 
knew  till  now  who  the  father  of  my  friend  Gys  Grandit 
was ; — but  now  that  I  do  know  I  think  the  public  confession 
you  tell  me  of,  was  the  only  fitting  reparation  such  a  man 
as  the  Abbe  could  make  to  the  dead  woman  who  was  his 
wife  in  the  sight  of  God,  as  well  as  to  his  living  son,  and 
the  public  generally.  I  never  quite  liked  or  trusted  the 
Abbe ;  but  if  all  this  be  true,  he  has  risen  a  hundred  per 
cent,  in  my  opinion!  As  for  Cardinal  Bonpre,  one  of 
the  noblest  and  purest  of  men,  you  surely  cannot  be  in 
earnest  when  you  speak  of  his  having  committed  a  grave 
error!" 

"  You  know  the  Cardinal  ?  "  asked  Gherardi  evading 
the  question. 

"  I  was  presented  to  him  in  Paris  the  day  before  I  left 
for  Florence,"  replied  Aubrey,  "  at  the  studio  of  his  niece, 
Donna  Angela  Sovrani." 

"  Ah !  "  and  Gherardi  balanced  a  paper-knife  lightly 
on  the  point  of  his  long  forefinger,  "  An  unpleasant  wo- 
man that !  One  of  the  female  '  geniuses  '  who  presume 
nowadays  to  compete  with  men  in  art  and  literature." 

"  In  Donna  Sovrani's  case  there  can  be  no  question  of 
competition,"  answered  Leigh  quietly,  "  She  is  by  far  and 
away  the  best  artist  of  her  time." 

"  You  think  so  ?  Very  good,  very  good !  "  and  Gher- 
ardi laughed  a  little,  "  You  are  very  chivalrous !  You 
have  a  touch  of  the  American  in  you,  have  you  not?— 


The  Master-Christian.  293 

there  is  a  tendency  in  the  men  of  the  New  World  to  be 
always  on  their  knees  before  women.  Strange,  very 
strange !  " 

"  \\  e  begin  our  lives  in  that  way,"  replied  Leigh,  "  We 
kneel  to  our  mothers ! ' 

A  slight  flush  reddened  Gherardi's  yellow  paleness, 
but  he  kept  his  smile  well  in  evidence. 

"  Charmingly  expressed — very  charmingly !  "  he  said 
suavely,  "  And  so  you  have  met  our  dear  St.  Felix ! 
Well,  well !  And  did  he  tell  you  all  about  the  wonderful 
miracle  he  performed  at  Rouen  ?  " 

A  cloud  of  surprise  intermingled  with  contempt  dark- 
ened Leigh's  intellectual  brows. 

"  Never !  "  he  said  emphatically,  "  I  should  not  have 
thought  so  much  of  him  if  he  had  laid  any  claim  to  such  a 
pretence !  " 

Gherardi  laughed  again  softly. 

"  What  a  pity,"  he  observed,  "  What  a  pity  you  clever 
heretics  are  so  violent !  You  think  the  power  of  the 
Church  is  a  decaying  one,  and  that  our  Lord  has  ceased 
to  supply  its  ministers  with  the  Spirit  of  Grace  and  the 
powers  of  healing?  But  this  is  where  you  are  mistaken! 
The  Church — the  Roman  Church — remains  as  it  always 
was.  and  always  will  be ;  impregnable ! — the  source  of  in- 
spiration, the  seat  of  miracle,  the  only  clue  and  road  to 

everlasting  life !  And  as  for  its  power "  here  he 

closed  his  hand  and  dropped  it  on  the  table  with  a  silent 
force  which  was  strangely  expressive,  "  its  power  is  im- 
measurable !  It  reaches  out  in  every  direction — it  grasps 
— it  holds, — it  keeps !  Why  will  you  and  your  co-work- 
ers '  kick  '  like  St.  Paul  '  against  the  pricks  '  ?  It  is  quite 
useless !  The  Church  is  too  strong  for  any  one  of  you — 
aye,  and  for  any  army  of  you !  Do  you  not  hear  the 
divine  Voice  from  heaven  calling  daily  in  your  ears, 
'  Why  persecutest  thou  Me  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,"  answered  Aubrey  deliberately,'  "  I  hear  that 
every  time  I  enter  a  church !  I  hear  it  every  time  I  see 
an  ordained  priest  or  minister  of  the  Gospel  misusing  his 
time  in  construing  to  his  own  purposes  the  classic  sim- 
plicity of  Christ's  doctrine.  In  some  places  of  worship, 
such  as  the  tawdry  church  of  the  '  Annunziata '  in  Flor- 
ence that  protest  seems  to  reach  its  climax.  When  one 
sees  the  unwashen  priests  expectorating  every  five  min- 


294  The  Master-Christian. 

utes  or  so  *  on  the  very  altars  where  they  perform  Mass ; 
— when  one  notes  the  dirt,  the  neglect,  the  gim- 
crackery; — the  sickening  and  barbarous  superstition 
everywhere  offered  as  being  representative  of  sublime 
Deity, — the  Force  which  has  raised  the  heaven  above  us 
with  its  endless  star-patterns  of  living  universe, — then  the 
cry  of  '  Why  persecutest  thou  Me  ?  '  seems  to  roll  through 
the  arches  like  the  thunder  which  sometimes  precedes  a 
general  earthquake !  " 

Leigh's  clear  penetrating  voice,  artistically  modulated 
to  the  perfectly  musical  expression  of  thought,  was  not 
without  its  usual  effect,  even  on  a  mind  so  callous  as 
that  of  Gherardi.  He  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair, — he 
was  inwardly  fuming  with  indignation,  and  for  one  mo- 
ment was  inclined  to  assume  the  melodramatic  pose  of 
the  irate  Churchman,  and  to  make  himself  into  the  figure 
of  an  approved  "  stage  "  dignitary  of  religion,  with  out- 
stretched arm,  menacing  eyes,  and  words  that  were  as 
darts  to  wound  and  sting.  But  looking  under  his  eye- 
lids at  the  cold,  half  satirical  tranquillity  of  Aubrey's  pale, 
clear-cut  features,  he  felt  that  any  attempt  at  "  acting  " 
his  part  would  be  seen  through  in  a  second  by  a  man  who 
was  so  terribly  in  earnest.  So  with  a  benevolent  and  re- 
gretful air,  he  said, 

"  Yes ! — no  doubt  things  appear  to  you  as  they  do  not 
appear  to  us.  The  spirit  of  faith  enables  us  to  see  through 
all  unsatisfactory  outward  forms  and  ceremonies,  to  the 
actual  divine  mysteries  which  they  symbolise; — and  her- 
etics perceive  incongruities,  where  we,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  see  nothing  but  harmony !  And  though  you,  Mr. 
Leigh,  receive  the  information  with  incredulity  and  a 
somewhat  blameable  indifference,  it  is  a  matter  of  re- 
joicing to  us  that  Cardinal  Bonpre  has  performed  this 
miracle  of  healing  at  Rouen.  It  would  have  raised  him 
to  a  very  high  place  indeed  in  the  Holy  Father's  estima- 
tion, had  it  nol  been  for  the  strange  mistake  he  has  un- 
fortunately made  with  respect  to  the  Abbe  Vergniaud." 

"  One  may  cure  a  sick  person  then,  but  one  must  not 
pardon  a  sinner  ?  "  suggested  Aubrey,  "  '  For  whether  is 
it  easier  to  say,  Thy  sins  be  forgiven  thee ; '  or  '  Arise  and 
walk  ?  '  The  one  is  considered  a  miracle ; — the  other  a 
mistake !  " 

*  A  fact 


The  Master-Christian.  295 

Gherardi's  cold  eyes  glittered. 

"  \Ye  will  not  go  into  the  technicalities  of  the  question," 
he  said  frigidly,  "  We  will  return  to  the  point  from  whence 
we  diverged.  Your  wish  expressed  in  this  letter,"  and  he 
drew  one  from  a  packet  on  the  table  and  glanced  it  over 
in  a  business-like  way,  "  was  to  obtain  a  private  audience 
from  the  Pope.  I  repeat  that  to  a  mere  civilian  and  so- 
cialistic writer  like  yourself,  that  is  impossible  !  " 

Aubrey  sat  unmoved. 

"  I  suppose  if  I  were  a  prince  of  the  blood-royal  I 
should  not  be  refused  an  audience  ?  "  he  said. 

Gherardi's  thick  dark  eyebrows  went  up  with  a  move- 
ment of  surprise  at  such  an  irrational  remark. 

"  That  \vould  make  a  difference  certainly,"  he  an- 
swered smiling,  "  The  claims  of  diplomacy  have  to  be 
considered  !  " 

"  If  a  prince  of  the  blood-royal  whose  private  life  was 
a  scandal  to  the  world  "  —  went  on  Aubrey,  "  who  was 
guilty  of  every  vice  known  in  the  calendar,  —  who  was 
neither  intelligent  nor  sympathetic,  —  whose  whole  career 
was  one  of  self  and  self-indulgence,  —  I  say  if  he  were  to 
seek  a  private  audience  of  the  man  who  is  declared  to  be  the 
representative  of  Christ  in  Christendom,  he  would  obtain 
it  !  On  the  other  hand,  if  a  man  who  had  denied  himself 
every  personal  gratification,  and  had  sacrificed  his  whole 
life  in  working  for  his  fellow  men,  and  to  the  following 
of  the  teachings  of  the  Gospel  as  far  as  it  was  possible, 
—  but  who  yet  had  got  no  further  in  world's  wealth  than 
to  be  earning  from  his  writings  a  few  hundreds  a  year,  he 
could  not  be  received!  Monsignor,  this  may  be  diplo- 
macy, but  it  is  not  Christianity  !  " 

"I  cannot  enter  into  these  matters  with  you  -  "  be- 
gan Gherardi  impatiently. 

"  Xo,  you  cannot,  because  you  dare  not!  "  said  Aubrey 
boldly.  "  Man,  you  are  not  a  Christian  !  Why  pretend 
to  be  one?  Is  it  not  time  you  left  off  feigning  what  you 
do  not  feel?  Is  it  not  preposterous  that  you,  at  your 
years,  should  consent  to  make  your  life  a  lie  in  the  face  of 
Omnipresent  Deity?" 

Gherardi  rose  up  pale  and  trembling. 

"  Mr.  Leigh,  if  you  have  come  here  to  insult  me 


you  !  "    echoed    Aubrey,    "  Not    I  !     I    would 
make  a  man  of  you  if  I  could,  —  but  that  is  too  late! 


296 


The  Master-Christian. 


You  are  a  witness  of  imposture  and  a  supporter  of  it, — 
and  we  are  none  of  us  worthy  to  be  called  men  if  we  do 
either  of  these  two  things.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do, 
that  there  is  no  representative  of  the  blameless  Christ  at 
the  Vatican, — you  know  there  is  only  a  poor  weak  old 
man,  whose  mind  is  swayed  by  the  crafty  counsels  of  the 
self-seeking  flatterers  around  him,  and  who  passes  his 
leisure  hours  in  counting  up  money,  and  inventing  new 
means  of  gaining  it  through  forms  of  things  that  should 
be  spiritual  and  divine.  If  you  believe  Christ  was  God 
Incarnate,  how  dare  you  tamper  with  such  a  Supernal 
Mystery  ?  " 

Gherardi  turned  his  head  slowly  and  looked  round  at 
Aubrey, — then  recovering  his  composure,  sat  down  and 
pretended  to  turn  over  some  documents  on  the  table,  but 
Aubrey  went  on  undeterred  by  his  aspect  of  frigidity, 
"  How  dare  you,  I  say  ?  The  God  in  Man !  Do  you  real- 
ize the  stupendous  meaning  of  such  a  phrase?  Do  you 
not  see  that  it  means  a  Divine  Life  palpitating  through 
every  'atom  of  creation?  A  Force  so  great,  so  pure  and 
majestic,  so  absolute  in  Its  working  for  good,  and  yet  so 
deliberate  in  Its  movements  that  It  will  give  Its  crea- 
ture Man  whole  centuries  of  chance  to  find  and  save  his 
own  soul  before  utterly  destroying  him?  What  has  this 
sublime  Power  in  common  with  the  Pope,  who  shuts 
himself  up  in  his  palace,  a  voluntary  prisoner, 
all  forsooth  because  he  is  denied  temporal  power! 
Temporal  power!  What  is  temporal  power  com- 
pared to  spiritual  power!  If  he  wese  the  true  rep- 
resentative of  Christ  he  would  move  the  world  by 
deeds  of  benevolence,  goodness,  and  sanctity !  In  such  a 
case  as  that  of  the  unhappy  Dreyfus  for  instance,  he 
would  have  issued  a  solemn  warning  and  earnest  reproach 
to  the  French  nation  for  their  misguided  cruelty; — he 
would  have  travelled  himself  to  Rennes  to  use  his  per- 
sonal influence  in  obtaining  an  innocent  man's  release 
with  honour!  That  would  have  been  Christian!  That 
would  have  been  a  magnificent  example  to  the  world ! 
But  what  did  he  do?  Shut  comfortably  up  in  his  lux- 
urious palace  where  no  harm  could  touch  him,  where  no 
crucifixion  of  the  heart  or  soul  could  torture  him,  he  an- 
nounced to  his  myrmidons  his  opinion  that  the  wretched 
martyr  would  be  found  guilty !  And  who  can  tell  but 


The  Master-Christian.  297 

that  his  utterance  thus  unchristianly  proclaimed  did  not 
help  to  sway  the  minds  of  the  Rennes  Court-martial? 
Again,  why  are  there  so  many  poor  in  Italy  ?  If  the  Pope 
were  the  father  indeed  of  those  who  are  immediately 
around  him,  the  land  should  be  like  the  fabled  Paradise, 
flowing  with  milk  and  honey.  The  Vatican  is  full  of 
money  and  jewels.  '  Sell  half  that  thou  hast  and  give  to 
the  poor,'  was  the  command  of  Christ. — Does  the  Pope 
do  that  ?  Why  does  he  not  go  out  among  the  people  and 
work  in  active  sympathy  with  them?  Christ  did  so! 
Christ  was  never  borne  with  solemn  flourish  of  trumpets 
like  a  mummy  in  a  chair,  under  canopies  of  cloth  of 
gold,  to  give  a  blessing  to  a  crowd  who  had  got  admis- 
sion to  see  him  by  paid  ticket!  Man,  man!  The  the- 
atrical jugglery  of  Rome  is  a  blasphemy  in  the  sight  of 
heaven; — and  most  truly  did  St.  John  declare  this  city, 
throned  on  its  seven  hills,  to  be,  '  MYSTERY,  THE  MOTHER 
OF  HARLOTS  AND  ABOMINATIONS  OF  THE  EARTH.'  And 
most  clearly  does  God  say  at  this  period  of  our  time, 
'  Come  out  of  her  My  people,  that  ye  be  not  partakers  of 
her  sins,  and  that  ye  receive  not  of  her  plagues.  For  her 
sins  have  reached  unto  heaven,  and  God  hath  remembered 
her  iniquities ! '  The  days  of  evil  are  drawing  to  an 
end  ;  Rome  must  fall !  " 

Gherardi's   breath   came   and   went   quickly, — but   he 
kept  up  the  outward  appearance  of  cold  composure. 

"  You  rant  very  well,  Mr.  Leigh !  "  he  said,  "'  You 
would  make  an  excellent  Hyde  Park  orator!  You  have 
all  the  qualities  w-hich  attract  the  vulgar;  but  we — we  of 
the  Church  know  quite  well  how  to  deal  with  men  of 
your  class, — their  denunciations  do  not  affect  us  at  all. 
They  amuse  us  occasionally ;  and  sometimes  they  pain  us 
for  naturally  we  grieve  for  the  backslidtngs  of  refractory 
brethren.  We  regret  the  clamourings  of  ignorance 
which  arise  from  a  strong  personal  desire  for  notoriety. 
That  passage  in  the  Revelation  of  St.  John,  has  been 
quoted  scores  of  times  as  being  applicable  to  Rome, 
though  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  distinctly  mentions  Baby- 
lon." Here  he  smiled  suavely.  "  And  thanks  to  the 
workings  of  an  All-wise  Influence,  Rome  \vas  never  more 
powerful  than  she  is  at  the  present  moment.  Her  rami- 
fications are  everywhere ;  and  in  England  she  has  ob- 
tained a  firm  footing.  Your  good  English  Queen  has 


298 


The  Master-Christian. 


never  uttered  one  word  of  reproach  against  the  spread  of 
our  Holy  Religion  among  her  subjects !  Our  prayers  for 
the  conversion  of  England  will  yet  be  granted !  " 

"  Not  while  I  live !  "  said  Aubrey  firmly,  "  Not  while 
I  can  hold  back  but  a  handful  from  such  a  disaster,  and 
that  handful  shall  hold  back  yet  another  handful !  The 
hand  of  Roman  priestcraft  shall  never  weigh  on  England 
while  there  are  any  honest  men  left  in  it!  The  conver- 
sion of  England  !  The  retrogression  of  England  !  Do 
you  think  such  a  thing  is  likely  to  happen  because  a  few 
misguided  clerics  choose  to  appeal  to  the  silly  sentimen- 
tality of  hysterical  women  with  such  church  tricks  and 
rags  of  paganism  as  incense  and  candles  !  Bah  !  Do  not 
judge  the  English  inward  heart  by  its  small  outward  fol- 
lies, Monsignor !  There  are  more  honest,  brave,  and  sen- 
sible folk  in  the  British  Islands  than  you  think.  And 
though  our  foreign  foes  desire  our  fall,  the  seed  of  their 
decay  is  not  yet  in  us ! " 


XXI. 

GHERARDI  sat  for  two  or  three  minutes  in  absolute 
silence.  Only  the  twitching  of  his  eyelids  and  a  slight 
throbbing  in  the  muscles  of  his  throat  showed  with  what 
difficulty  he  suppressed  his  rising  fury.  But  his  astute 
and  crafty  powers  of  reasoning  taught  him  that  it  would 
be  worse  than  ridiculous  to  give  way  to  anger  in  the 
presence  of  this  cool,  determined  man,  who,  though  he 
spoke  with  a  passion  which  from  its  very  force  seemed 
almost  to  sound  like  "  the  mighty  wind  "  which  accom- 
panied the  cloven  tongues  of  fire  at  the  first  Pentecost, 
still  maintained  his  personal  calm, — that  immovable  calm- 
ness which  is  always  the  result  of  strong  inward  convic- 
tion. A  dangerous  man ! — yes,  there  was  no  doubt  of 
that !  He  was  one  of  those  concerning  whom  Emerson 
wrote,  "  let  the  world  beware  when  a  Thinker  comes 
into  it."  Aubrey  Leigh  was  a  thinker, — and  more  than 
that,  he  was  a  doer.  He  was  of  the  strong  heroic  type 
of  genius  that  turns  its  dreams  into  facts,  its  thoughts 
into  deeds.  He  did  not  talk,  in  common  with  so  many 
men,  of  what  they  considered  ought  to  be  done,  without 
exerting  themselves  to  do  it ; — he  was  sincerely  in  earn- 
est, and  cared  nothing  for  any  personal  loss  or  incon- 
venience he  might  suffer  from  carrying  out  his  intentions. 
And  Gherardi  saw  that  there  was  little  or  no  possibility 
of  moving  such  a  man  from  the  firm  ground  of  truth 
which  he  had  elected  to  stand  on.  There  is  nothing  so 
inconvenient  in  this  world  as  an  absolutely  truthful  per- 
son, who  can  both  speak  and  write,  and  has  the  courage  of 
his  convictions.  One  can  always  arrange  matters  with 
liars,  because  they,  being  hampered  by  their  own  deceits, 
are  compelled  to  study  ways,  means,  and  chances  for  ap- 
pearing honest.  But  with  the  man  or  woman  who  holds 
truth  dearer  than  life,  and  honour  more  valuable  than 
advancement,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  now  that  gov- 
ernments cannot  insist  on  the  hemlock-cure,  as  in  the  case 
of  Socrates.  Gherardi,  looking  furtively  under  his  eye- 


300  The  Master-Christian. 

lids  at  Leigh's  strong  lithe  figure,  and  classic  head,  felt 
he  could  have  willingly  poisoned  or  stabbed  him.  For 
there  were,  and  are  great  interests  at  stake  in  the  so- 
called  "  conversion  of  England," — it  is  truly  one  of  the 
largest  financial  schemes  ever  set  afloat  in  the  world,  if 
those  whose  duty  it  is  to  influence  and  control  events 
could  only  be  brought  to  see  the  practical  side  of  the  mat- 
ter, and  set  a  check  on  its  advancement  before  it  is  too 
late.  Gherardi  knew  what  great  opportunities  there  were 
in  embryo  of  making  large  fortunes ; — and  not  only  of 
making  large  fortunes  but  of  obtaining  incredible  power. 
There  was  a  great  plan  afoot  of  drawing  American  and 
English  wealth  into  the  big  Church-net  through  the  me- 
dium of  superstitious  fear  and  sentimental  bigotry, — and 
an  opposer  and  enemy  like  Aubrey  Leigh,  physically 
handsome,  with  such  powers  of  oratory  as  are  only 
granted  to  the  very  few,  was  capable  of  influencing  wo- 
men as  well  as  men — and  women,  as  Gherardi  well  recog- 
nised, are  the  chief  supporters  of  the  Papal  system.  Un- 
easily he  thought  of  a  certain  wealthy  American  heiress 
whom  he  had  persuaded  into  thinking  herself  specially 
favoured  and  watched  over  by  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  who, 
overcome  by  the  strong  imaginary  consciousness  of  this 
heavenly  protection,  had  signed  away  in  her  will  a  mil- 
lion of  pounds  sterling  to  a  particular  "  shrine  "  in  which 
he  had  the  largest  share  of  financial  profit.  Now,  sup- 
pose she  should  chance  to  come  within  the  radius  of 
Leigh's  attractive  personality  and  teaching,  and  revoke 
this  bequest  ?  Deeply  incensed  he  sat  considering,  yet  he 
was  conscious  enough  of  his  own  impotency  to  persuade 
or  move  this  man  a  jot. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  h^  said  at  last  without  raising  his 
eyes,  and  carefully  preserving  an  equable  and  mild  tone 
of  voice,  "  I  am  sorry  you  are  so  harsh  in  your  judgments, 
Mr.  Leigh ; — and  still  more  sorry  that  you  appear  to  be 
bent  on  opposing  the  Roman  Catholic  movement  in  Eng- 
land. I  will  do  you  the  justice  to  believe  that  you  are 
moved  by  a  sincere  though  erroneous  conviction, — and  it 
is  out  of  pure  k\ndness  and  interest  in  you  that  I  warn 
you  how  useless  you  will  find  the  task  in  which  you  have 
engaged.  The  force  of  Rome  is  impregnable ! — the  in- 
terpretation of  the  Gospel  by  the  Pope  infallible.  Any 
man,  no  matter  how  gifted  with  eloquence,  or  moved  by 


The  Master-Christian.  301 

what  he  imagines  to  be  truth — (and  alas !  how  often  error' 
is  mistaken  for  truth  and  truth  for  error!) — must  be 
crushed  in  the  endeavour  to  cope  with  such  a  divinely 
ordained  power." 

"  The  Car  of  Juggernaut  was  considered  to  be  divinely 
ordained,"  said  Aubrey,  "  And  the  wretched  and  igno- 
rant populace  flung  themselves  under  it  in  the  fit  of  hys- 
terical mania  to  which  they  were  excited  by  the  priests 
of  the  god,  and  so  perished  in  their  thousands.  Not  they 
were  to  blame;  but  the  men  who  invented  the  imposture 
and  encouraged  the  slaughter.  They  had  an  ideal ; — the 
priests  had  none !  But  Juggernaut  had  its  end — and  so 
will  Rome !  " 

"  You  call  yourself  a  Christian  ?  "  asked  Gherardi,  with 
a  touch  of  derision. 

"  Most  assuredly  I  do,"  replied  Aubrey,  "  Most  as- 
suredly I  am !  I  love  and  honour  Christ  with  every  fibre 
of  my  being.  I  long  to  see  that  Divine  Splendour  of  the 
ages  stand  out  white  and  shining  and  free  from  the  mud 
and  slime  with  which  His  priests  have  bespattered  Him. 
I  believe  in  Him  absolutely !  But  I  can  find  nowhere  in 
His  Gospel  that  He  wished  us  to  turn  Religion  into  a 
sort  of  stock- jobbing  company  managed  by  sacerdotal 
directors  in  Rome !  " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  '  sacerdotal  directors ' 
as  you  call  them,  of  Rome?  "  asked  Gherardi  slowly,  his 
eyes  narrowing  at  the  corners,  and  his  whole  countenance 
expressing  ineffable  disdain,  "  Do  you  think  we  give  out 
the  complex  and  necessary  workings  of  our  sacred  busi- 
ness to  the  uneducated  public?" 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Aubrey,  "  For  you  keep  the 
public  in  the  dark  as  much  as  you  can.  Your  methods  of 
action  are  precisely  those  of  the  priests  of  ancient  Egypt, 
who  juggled  with  what  they  were  pleased  to  call  their 
sacred  '  mysteries  '  in  oreciselv  the  same  way  as  you  do. 
Race  copies  race.  Roman  Christianity  is  grafted  upon 
Roman  Paganism.  When  the  Apostles  were  all  dead, 
and  their  successors  (who  had  never  been  in  personal 
touch  with  Christ)  came  on  to  the  scene  of  action,  they 
discovered  that  the  people  of  Rome  would  not  do  without 
the  worship  of  woman  in  their  creed,  so  they  cleverly 
substituted  the  Virgin  Mary  for  Venus  and  Diana.  They 
turned  the  statues  of  gods  and  heroes  into  figures  of 


302  The  Master-Christian. 

Apostles  and  Saints.  They  knew  it  would  be  unwise  to 
deprive  the  populace  of  what  they  had  been  so  long  accus- 
tomed to,  and  therefore  they  left  them  their  swinging  cen- 
sers, their  gold  chalices,  and  their  symbolic  candles. 
Thus  it  is  that  Roman  Catholicism  became,  and  is  still, 
merely  a  Christian  form  of  Paganism  which  is  made  to 
pay  successfully,  just  as  the  feasts  and  Saturnalia  of  an- 
cient days  were  made  to  pay  as  spectacular  and  theatrical 
pastimes.  I  should  not  blame  your  Church  if  it  de- 
clared itself  to  be  an  offshoot  of  Paganism  at  once, — 
Paganism,  or  any  other  form  of  faith,  deserves  respect 
as  long  as  its  priests  and  followers  are  sincere ;  but  when 
their  belief  is  a  mere  pretence,  and  their  system  degener- 
ates into  a  scheme  of  making  money  out  of  the  fond  faiths 
of  the  ignorant,  then  I  consider  it  is  time  to  protest 
against  such  blasphemy  in  the  presence  of  God  and  all 
things  divine  and  spiritual !  " 

Gherardi  had  listened  to  these  words  very  quietly,  his 
countenance  gradually  relaxing  and  smoothing  into  an 
amiable  expression  of  forbearance.  He  looked  up  now  at 
Aubrey  with  a  smile  that  was  almost  benignant. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Leigh !  "  he  said  gently,  "  I 
begin  to  understand  you  now !  I  see  that  you  have  stud- 
ied deeply,  and  you  have  thought  still  more.  If  you  will 
continue  your  studies  and  your  thinking  also,  you  will 
see  how  difficult  it  is  for  us  to  move  as  rapidly  with  the 
times  as  you  would  have  us  do.  You  must  remember 
that  it  would  be  quite  possible  for  Holy  Mother  Church 
to  rise  at  once  to  the  high  scientific  and  psychical  po- 
sition you  wish  her  to  adopt,  if  it  were  not  for  the  mass 
of  t^e  ignorant,  with  whom  one  must  have  patience ! 
You  are  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life — you  are  zealous — 
eager  for  improvement, — yes ! — all  that  is  very  admirable 
and  praiseworthy.  But  you  forget  the  numerous  and 
widely  differing  interests  with  which  we  of  the  Church 
have  to  deal.  For  the  great  majority  of  persons  it  would 
be  useless,  for  example,  to  give  them  lessons  on  the  maj- 
esty of  God's  work  in  the  science  of  Astronomy.  They 
would  be  confused,  bewildered,  and  more  or  less  fright- 
ened out  of  faith  altogether.  They  must  have  something 
tangible  to  cling  to — for  instance," — and  he  pressed  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  delicately  together,  "  there  are  grades 
of  intelligence  just  as  there  are  grades  of  creation;  you 


The  Master-Christian.  303 

cannot  instruct  a  caterpillar  as  you  instruct  a  man.  Now 
there  are  many  human  beings  who  are  of  the  caterpillar 
quality  of  brain — what  are  you  to  do  with  them?  They 
would*  not  understand  God  as  manifested  in  the  solar  sys- 
tem, but  they  would  try  to  please  some  favourite  Saint  by 
good  conduct.  Is  it  not  better  that  they  should  believe  in 
the  Saint  than  in  nothing?  " 

"  I  cannot  think  it  well  for  anyone  to  believe  in  a  lie," 
said  Aubrey  slowly,  taken  aback  despite  himself  by  Gher- 
ardi's  sudden  gentleness,  "  There  is  a  magnificent  sim- 
plicity in  truth ; — truth  which,  the  more  it  is  tested,  the 
truer  it  proves.  Where  is  there  any  necessity  of  false- 
hood? Surely  the  marvels  of  nature  could  be  explained 
with  as  much  ease  as  the  supposed  miracles  of  a  Saint  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  it !  "  answered  Gherardi  smiling,  "  You  must 
admit,  my  dear  sir,  that  our  scientific  men  are  a  great  deal 
too  abstruse  for  the  majority; — in  some  cases  they  are 
almost  too  abstruse  for  themselves !  You  spoke  just  now 
of  the  priests  of  Egypt; — the  oracles  of  Memphis  were 
clear  reading  compared  to  the  involved  sentences  of  some 
of  our  modern  scientists !  Scientific  books  are  hard  nuts 
to  crack  even  for  the  highly  educated^;  but  for  the  un- 
educated, believe  me,  the  personality  of  a  Saint  is  much 
more  consoling  than  the  movements  of  a  star.  Besides, 
Humanity  must  have  something  human  to  love  and  to  re- 
vere. The  infinite  gradations  of  the  Mind  of  God 
through  Matter,  appeal  to  none  but  those  of  the  very 
highest  intellectual  capability." 

Aubrey  was  silent  a  moment,  then  he  said, 

"  But  even  the  most  ignorant  can  understand  Christ, — 
Christ  as  He  revealed  Himself  to  the  world  in  perfect 
beauty  and  simplicity  as  '  a  Man  of  sorrows  and  ac- 
quainted with  grief.'  There  needs  no  Vatican,  no  idola- 
try of  the  Pope,  no  superstitious  images,  no  shrines  of 
healing  and  reliquaries  to  explain  His  sublime  intention !  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Leigh,  you  entertain  a  very  optim- 
istic view  of  mankind,"  said  Gherardi,  "  Unfortunately 
Christ  is  not  enough  for  many  people.  Christ  was  an 
Incarnation  of  God,  and  though  He  became  Man  he 
'  knew  not  sin.'  He  therefore  stands  apart ;  an  Example, 
but  not  a  Companion.  There  are  a  certain  class  of  sin- 
ners who  like  to  think  of  Saints ; — human  beings  con- 
stituted like  themselves,  who  have  committed  errors,  even 


304  The  Master-Christian. 

crimes,  and  repented  of  them.  This  is  a  similar  spirit 
to  that  of  the  child  who  catches  hold  of  any  convenient 
support  he  can  find  to  guide  his  first  tottering  steps  across 
the  floor  to  his  mother, — the  Saint  helps  the  feeble- 
footed  folk  to  totter  their  way  towards  Christ.  I  assure 
you,  our  Church  considers  everything  that  is  necessary 
for  the  welfare  of  its  weakest  brethren." 

"  Yes, — I  grant  you  that  it  is  full  of  subtle  means  for 
approaching  and  commanding  the  ignorant,"  said  Aubrey, 
"  But  to  the  intellectual  forces  it  offers  no  progress." 

"  The  intellectual  forces  can  clear  their  own  way !  " 
declared  Gherardi,  rising  to  his  full  imposing  height,  and 
beaming  sovereign  benevolence  on  his  visitor,  "  and  can, 
if  they  choose,  make  their  own  Church.  This  is  the  age 
of  freedom,  and  no  restraint  is  placed  on  the  action  of  the 
intellectually  free.  But  the  ignorant  must  always  form 
the  majority ;  and  in  their  ignorance  and  helplessness,  will 
do  wisely  to  remain  like  obedient  children  under  the  sway 
of  Rome!" 

Aubrey  rose  also,  and  could  not  forbear  an  involuntary 
glance  of  reluctant  admiration  at  the  stately  figure  and 
commanding  attitude  of  the  man  who  confronted  him  with 
such  a  pride  in  the  persistent  Jesuitical  conviction  that 
even  a  Lie  may  be  used  in  religion  for  the  furtherance  of 
conversion  to  the  Truth. 

"  I  do  not  see,"  Gherardi  went  on,  smiling  blandly, 
"  why  after  all,  you  should  not  be  received  by  the  Holy 
Father.  I  will  try  to  arrange  it  for  you.  But  it  would 
avail  you  very  little,  I  imagine,  as  he  is  not  strong,  and 
would  not  be  capable  of  conversing  with  you  for  more 
than  a  few  minutes.  I  think  it  would  serve  your  purpose 
much  more  to  carefully  study  the  movements,  and  the 
work  of  what  you  call  '  the  stock- jobbing  company  of 
sacerdotal  directors/  "  and  here  his  smile  became  still  more 
broadly  benevolent,  "  and  take  note  of  their  divisions  and 
subdivisions  of  influence  which  extend  from  the  very 
poorest  and  most  abandoned  to  the  very  highest  and  most 
cultured.  You  will  then  understand  why  I  maintain  that 
Rome  as  a  power  is  impregnable ; — and  why  some  of  the 
more  far-sighted  and  prophetic  among  us  look  upon  the 
Conversion  of  England  as  an  almost  accomplished 
fact!" 

Aubrey  smiled ;  but  he  was  not  without  the  conscious- 


The  Master-Christian.  305 

ness  that  from  his  own  particular  point  of  view  Gherardi 
had  some  excuse  for  his  belief. 

"  According  to  'your  own  written  opinions,"  went  on 
Gherardi,  "  for  I  have  read  your  books, — the  Church  of 
England  is  in  a  bad  way.  Its  Ritualistic  form  is  very 
nearly  Roman.  Some  of  your  Archbishops  confess  to  a 
liking  for  incense !  You  admit  that  the  stricter  forms  of 
Protestantism  do  not  comfort  the  sick  soul  in  times  of 
need;  well,  what  would  you  Socialists  and  Freethinkers 
have  ?  Would  you  do  without  a  Church  altogether  ?  " 

"  Xo,"  said  Aubrey  quickly,  "  But  we  would  have  a 
purified  Church, — a  House  of  Praise  to  God — without 
any  superstition  or  dogma." 

"  You  must  have  dogma,"  said  Gherardi  complacently, 
"  You  must  formulate  something  out  of  a  chaos  of  opin- 
ion. As  for  superstition,  you  will  never  get  rid  of  that 
weakness  out  of  the  human  composition.  If  the  Church 
gives  nothing  for  this  particular  mood  of  man  to  feed  on, 
man  will  invent  something  else  outside  the  Church.  My 
dear  sir,  we  have  thought  of  all  these  difficulties  for  ages ! 
In  religion  one  cannot  appeal  solely  to  the  intellect.  One 
must  touch  the  heart — the  emotions.  Music,  painting, 
colour,  spectacle,  all  these  are  permitted  us  to  use  for 
the  good  purpose  of  lifting  the  soul  of  a  sinner  to  con- 
template something  better  than  himself.  Women  and 
little  children  enter  the  Church  as  well  as  men, — would 
you  have  than  find  no  comfort?  Must  a  woman  with  a 
broken  heart  take  her  sorrows  to  the  vast  Silence  of  an 
unreasonable  God  among  universes  of  star  systems  f  Or 
shall  she  find  hope,  and  a  gleam  of  comfort  in  a  prayer  to 
a  woman  of  the  same  clay  as  herself  in  the  person  of  the 
Virgin  Mary?  And  remember,  there  is  something  very 
beautiful  in  the  symbol  of  the  Virgin  as  applied  to  woman- 
hood !  The  Mother  of  God !  Does  it  not  suggest  to  your 
poetical  mind  that  woman  is  destined  always  to  be  the 
Mother  of  the  God? — that  is,  mother  of  the  perfect  man 
when  that  desirable  consummation  shall  be  accom- 
plished?" 

"  I  have  never  doubted  it !  "  said  Aubrey,  "  The  Mother 
of  Christ  is  to  me  a  symbol  of  womanhood  for  all  time !  " 

Gherardi  smiled. 

"  Good !  Then  in  spite  of  your  denunciations  you 
come  very  near  to  our  faith !  " 


306  The  Master-Christian. 

"  I  never  denied  the  beauty,  romance,  or  mysticism  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  Faith,"  said  Aubrey,  "  If  it  were 
purified  from  the  accumulated  superstition  of  ages,  and 
freed  from  intolerance  and  bigotry,  it  would  perhaps  be 
the  grandest  form  of  Christianity  in  the  world.  But  the 
rats  are  in  the  house,  and  the  rooms  want  cleaning !  " 

"  In  every  house  there  are  those  rats — in  every  room 
there  is  dirt !  "  said  Gherardi,  "  Presuming  that  you  speak 
in  a  moral  sense.  What  of  your  Houses  of  Parliament? 
What  of  the  French  Senate?  What  of  the  Reichstag? 
What  of  the  Russian  Autocracy? — the  American  Repub- 
lic? In  every  quarter  the  rats  squeal,  and  the  dirt 
gathers !  The  Church  of  Rome  is  purity  itself  compared 
to  your  temporal  governments!  My  dear  sir,"  and  ap- 
proaching, he  laid  a  kindly  hand  on  Aubrey's  arm,  "  I 
would  not  be  harsh  with  you  for  the  world !  I  under- 
stand your  nature  perfectly.  It  is  full  of  enthusiasm  and 
zeal  for  righteousness, — your  heart  warms  to  the  sorrows 
of  the  human  race, — you  would  lift  up  the  whole  world 
to  God's  footstool ;  you  would  console — you,  would  be  a 
benefactor — you  would  elevate,  purify,  rejuvenate,  in- 
spire !  Yes !  This  is  a  grand  mood — one  which  has  fired 
many  a  would-be  reformer  before  you, — but  you  forget ! 
It  is  not  the  Church  against  which  you  should  arm  your- 
self— it  is  the  human  race !  It  is  not  one  or  many  re- 
ligious systems  with  which  you  should  set  yourself  to  con- 
tend— it  is  the  blind  brutishness  of  humanity !  "  As  he 
spoke,  his  tall  form  appeared  to  tower  to  an  even  greater 
height, — his  eyes  flashed,  and  the  intellectual  pride  and 
force  of  his  character  became  apparent  in  every  feature 
of  his  face.  "  If  humanity  in  the  mass  asked  us  for 
Christ  only;  if  men  and  women  would  deny  themselves 
the  petty  personal  aim,  the  low  vice,  the  crawling  desire 
to  ingratiate  themselves  with  Heaven,  the  Pharisaical 
affectation  of  virtue — if  they  would  themselves  stand  clear 
of  '  vain  repetition  '  and  obstinate  egoism,  and  would  of 
themselves  live  purely,  the  Church  would  be  pure !  May 
I  venture  to  suggest  to  you  that  men  make  the  Church, 
not  the  Church  the  men  ?  We  try  to  supply  the  spiritual 
needs  of  the  human  being,  such  as  his  spiritual  needs  at 
present  are, — when  he  demands  more  we  will  give  him 
more.  At  present  his  needs  are  purely  personal,  and 
therefore  low  and  tainted  with  sensuality, — yet  we  drag 


The  Master-Christian.  307 

him  along  through  these  emotions  as  near  to  the  blame- 
less Christ  as  we  can.  When  he  is  impersonal  enough, 
unselfish  enough,  loyal-hearted  enough,  to  stand  face  to 
face  with  the  glorious  manifestation  of  the  Deity  un- 
aided, we  can  cast  away  his  props,  such  as  superstitious 
observances,  Saints  and  the  like,  and  leave  him, — but  then 
the  Millennium  will  have  come,  and  there  will  be  new 
heavens  and  a  new  earth !  " 

He  spoke  well,  with  force  and  fervour,  and  Aubrey 
Leigh  was  for  a  moment  impressed.  After  a  slight  pause 
however,  he  said, 

"  You  admit  the  ignorance  of  human  beings,  and  yet — 
you  would  keep  them  ignorant?  " 

"  Keep  them  ignorant !  "  Gherardi  laughed  lightly. 
''  That  is  more  than  any  of  us  can  do  nowadays !  Every 
liberty  is  afforded  them  to  learn, — and  if  they  still  re- 
main barbarous  it  is  because  they  elect  to  be  so.  But 
our  duty  is  to  look  after  the  ignorant  more  than  the  cul- 
tured !  Quite  true  it  is  that  the  Pope  lost  a  magnificent 
opportunity  in  the  Dreyfus  affair, — if  he  had  spoken  in 
favour  of  mercy  and  justice  he  would  have  won  thou- 
sands of  followers;  being  silent  he  has  lost  thousands. 
But  this  should  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  you,  Mr.  Leigh ! 
For  if  the  Holy  Father  had  given  an  example  to  the 
Catholic  clergy  to  act  in  the  true  Christian  spirit  towards 
Dreyfus,  the  Conversion  of  England  might  have  been  so 
grafted  on  enthusiastic  impulse  as  to  be  a  much  nearer 
possibility  than  it  is  now !  " 

Aubrey  was  silent. 

"  Xow,  Mr.  Leigh,  I  think  you  have  gained  sufficient 
insight  into  my  views  to  judge  me  with  perhaps  greater 
favour  than  you  were  inclined  to  do  at  the  beginning  of 
our  interview,"  continued  Gherardi,  "  I  assure  you  that 
I  shall  watch  your  career  with  the  greatest  interest !  You 
have  embarked  in  a  most  hopeless  cause, — you  will  try 
to  help  the  helpless,  and  as  soon  as  they  are  rescued  out 
of  trouble,  they  will  turn  and  rend  you, — you  will  try 
to  teach  them  the  inner  mysteries  of  God's  working,  and 
they  will  say  you  are  possessed  of  a  devil !  You  will 
endeavour  to  upset  shams  and  hypocrisies,  and  the  men 
of  your  press  will  write  you  down  and  say  you  are  seek- 
ing advertisement  and  notoriety  for  yourself.  Was  there 
ever  a  great  thinker  left  unmartyred?  Or  a  great  writer 


308  The  Master-Christian. 

that  has  not  been  misunderstood  and  condemned?  You 
wish  to  help  and  serve  humanity !  Enthusiast !  You  would 
do  far  better  to  help  and  serve  the  Church !  For  the 
Church  rewards ;  humanity  has  cursed  and  killed  every 
great  benefactor  it  ever  had  including  Christ!" 

The  terrible  words  beat  on  Aubrey's  ears  like  the 
brazen  clang  of  a  tocsin,  for  he  knew  they  were  true.  But 
he  held  his  ground. 

"  There  are  worse  things  than  death,"  he  said  simply. 

Gherardi  smiled  kindly. 

"  And  there  are  worse  things  than  life !  "  he  said, 
"  Life  holds  a  good  many  harmless  enjoyments,  which 
I  am  afraid  you  are  putting  away  from  you  in  your 
prime,  for  the  sake  of  a  mere  chimera.  But — after  all, 
what  does  it  matter !  One  must  have  a  hobby  !  Some  men 
like  horse-racing,  others  book-collecting, — others  pictures, 
— and  so  forth — you  like  the  religious  question !  Well, 
no  doubt  it  affords  you  a  great  many  opportunities  of 
studying  character.  I  shall  be  very  happy — "  here  he  ex- 
tended his  hand  cordially,  "  to  show  you  anything  that 
may  be  of  interest  to  you  in  Rome,  and  to  present  you  to 
any  of  our  brethren  that  may  assist  you  in  your  re- 
searches. I  can  give  you  a  letter  to  Rampolla — 

Aubrey  declined  the  offered  introduction  with  a  de- 
cided negative  shake  of  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  know  Cardinal  Bonpre ;  that  is 
enough !  " 

"  But  there  is  a  great  difference  between  Rampolla  and 
Bonpre,"  said  Gherardi,  with  twinkling  eyes,  "  Bonpre 
is  scarcely  ever  in  Rome.  He  lives  a  life  apart — and  has 
for  a  long  while  been  considered  as  a  kind  of  saint  from 
the  privacy  and  austerity  of  his  life.  But  he  has  heralded 
his  arrival  in  the  Eternal  City  triumphantly — by  the  per- 
formance of  a  miracle !  What  do  you  say  to  this  ? — you 
who  would  do  away  with  things  miraculous  ?  " 

"  I  say  nothing  till  I  hear,"  answered  Aubrey,  "  I  must 
know  what  the  nature  of  the  so-called  miracle  is.  I  am 
a  believer  in  soul-forces,  and  in  the  exhalation  of  spiritual 
qualities  affecting  or  influencing  others ;  but  in  this  there 
is  no  miracle,  it  is  simply  natural  law." 

"  Well,  you  must  interview  the  Cardinal  yourself,"  said 
Gherardi  indulgently,  "  and  tell  me  afterwards  what  you 
think  about  it,  if  indeed  you  think  anything.  But  you  will 


The  Master-Christian.  309 

not  find  him  at  home  this  morning.  He  is  summoned  to 
the  Vatican." 

"  On  account  of  the  miracle  ? — or  the  scandal  affecting 
the  Abbe  Yergniaud  ?  "  asked  Aubrey. 

"  Both  matters  are  under  discussion,  I  believe,"  replied 
Gherardi  evasively,  "  But  they  are  not  in  my  province. 
Now,  can  I  be  of  any  further  service  to  you,  Mr.  Leigh?  " 

"  Xo.  I  am  sorry  to  have  taken  up  so  much  of  your 
time,"  said  Aubrey,  "  But  I  think  I  understand  your 
views " 

"  I  hope  you  do,"  interrupted  Gherardi,  "And  that  you 
will  by  and  by  grasp  the  fact  that  my  views  are  shared 
by  almost  everyone  holding  any  Church  authority.  But 
you  must  go  about  in  Rome,  and  make  enquiries  for  your- 
self .  .  .  now,  let  me  see!  Do  you  know  the  Princesse 
D'Agramont  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Oh,  you  must  know  her, — she  is  a  great  friend  of 
Donna  Sovrani's,  and  a  witty  and  brilliant  personage  in 
herself.  She  is  rather  of  your  way  of  thinking,  and  so 
is  out  of  favour  with  the  Church.  But  that  will  not  mat- 
ter to  you ;  and  you  will  meet  all  the  dissatisfied  and  en- 
thusiastic of  the  earth  in  her  salons  !  I  will  tell  her  to  send 
you  a  card." 

Aubrey  said  something  by  way  of  formal  acknowledg- 
ment, and  then  took  his  leave.  He  was  singularly  de- 
pressed, and  his  face,  always  quick  to  show  traces  of 
thought,  had  somewhat  lost  its  former  expression  of  eager 
animation.  The  wily  Gherardi  had  for  the  time  so  in- 
fluenced his  sensitive  mind  as  to  set  it  almost  to  the  tune 
of  the  most  despairing  of  Tennyson's  "  Two  Voices  ", 

"  A  life  of  nothings,  nothing  worth, 
From  that  first  nothing  ere  his  birth, 
To  that  last  nothing  under  earth." 

What  was  the  use  of  trying  to  expound  a  truth,  if  the 
majority  preferred  a  lie? 

"  Will  one  bright  beam  be  less  intense, 
When  thy  peculiar  difference 
Is  cancelled  in  the  world  of  sense  ?  " 

And  Gherardi  noted  the  indefinable  touch  of  fatigue 
that  gave  the  slight  droop  of  the  shoulders  and  air  of  Ian- 


3io  The  Master-Christian. 

guor  to  the  otherwise  straight  slim  figure  as  it  passed 
from  his  presence, — and  smiled.  He  had  succeeded  in 
putting  a  check  on  unselfish  ardour,  and  had  thrown  a 
doubt  into  the  pure  intention  of  enthusiastic  toil.  That 
was  enough  for  the  present.  And  scarcely  had  Aubrey 
crossed  the  threshold— scarcely  had  the  echo  of  his  de- 
parting footsteps  died  away — when  a  heavy  velvet  cur- 
tain in  the  apartment  was  cautiously  thrust  aside,  and 
Monsignor  Moretti  stepped  out  of  a  recess  behind  it, 
with  a  dignity  and  composure  which  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  any  but  an  Italian  priest  convicted  of  playing 
the  spy.  Gherardi  faced  him  confidently. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  more  exhaustive  enquiry  ex- 
pressed in  his  look  than  in  the  simple  ejaculation. 

"  Well !  "  echoed  Moretti,  as  he  slowly  advanced  into 
the  centre  of  the  room,  "  You  have  not  done  as  much  as 
I  expected  you  would.  Your  arguments  were  clever,  but 
not — to  a  man  of  his  obstinacy,  convincing." 

And  sitting  down,  he  turned  his  dark  face  and  gleam- 
ing eyes  full  on  his  confrere,  who  with  a  shrug  of  his  mas- 
sive shoulders  expressed  in  his  attitude  a  disdainful  re- 
linquishment  of  the  whole  business. 

"  You  have  not,"  pursued  Moretti  deliberately, 
"  grasped  anything  like  the  extent  of  this  man  Leigh's 
determination  and  indifference  to  results.  Please  mark 
that  last  clause, — indifference  to  results.  He  is  appar- 
ently alone  in  the  world, — he  seems  to  have  nothing  to 
lose,  and  no  one  to  care  whether  he  succeeds  or  fails ; — a 
most  dangerous  form  of  independence !  And  in  his  per- 
sistence and  eloquence  he  is  actually  stopping — yes,  I 
repeat  it, — stopping  and  putting  a  serious  check  on  the 
advancement  of  the  Roman  Catholic  party.  And  of  course 
any  check  just  now  means  to  us  a  serious  financial  loss 
both  in  England  and  America, — a  deficit  in  Vatican  rev- 
enues which  will  very  gravely  incommode  certain  nec- 
essary measures  now  under  the  consideration  of  His  Ho- 
liness. I  expected  you  to  grasp  the  man  and  hold  him,-  — 
not  by  intimidation  but  by  flattery." 

"  You  think  he  is  to  be  caught  by  so  common  a  bait  ?  " 
said  Gherardi,  "  Bah  !  He  would  see  through  it  at  once !  " 

"  Maybe !  "  replied  Moretti,  "  But  perhaps  not  if  it 
were  administered  in  the  way  I  mean.  You  seem  to  have 
forgotten  the  chief  influence  of  any  that  can  be  brought 


The  Master-Christian.  311 

to  bear  upon  the  heart  and  mind  of  a  man, — and  that  is, 
Woman." 

Gherardi  laughed  outright. 

"  Upon  my  word  I  think  it  would  be  difficult  to  find 
the  woman  suited  to  this  case !  "  he  said.  "  But  you  who 
have  a  diplomacy  deeper  than  that  of  any  Jew  usurer  may 
possibly  have  one  already  in  view  ?  " 

"  There  is  now  in  Rome,"  pursued  Moretti,  speaking 
with  the  same  even  deliberation  of  accent,  "  a  faithful 
daughter  of  the  Church,  whose  wealth  we  can  to  a  certain 
extent  command,  and  whose  charm  is  unquestionable, — 
the  Comtesse  Sylvie  Hermenstein " 

Gherardi  started.     Moretti  eyed  him  coldly. 

"  You  are  not  stricken  surely  by  the  childlike  fascin- 
ation with  which  this  princess  of  coquettes  rules  her 
court  ?  "  he  enquired  sarcastically. 

"  I  ?  "  echoed  Gherardi,  shifting  his  position  so  that 
Moretti's  gaze  could  not  fall  so  directly  upon  him.  "  I  ? 
You  jest!" 

"  I  think  not !  "  said  Moretti,  "  I  think  I  know  some- 
thing about  women — their  capabilities,  their  passions, 
their  different  grades  of  power.  Sylvie  Hermenstein 
possesses  a  potent  charm  which  few  men  can  resist,  and 
I  should  not  wonder  if  you  yourself  had  been  occasionally 
conscious  of  it.  She  is  one  of  those  concerning  whom 
other  women  say  '  they  can  see  nothing  in  her  '.  Ah !  " 
and  Moretti  smiled  darkly,  "  What  a  compliment  that  is 
from  the  majority  of  women  to  one!  This  woman  Sylvie 
is  unique.  Where  is  her  beauty?  You  cannot  say — yet 
beauty  is  her  very  essence.  She  cannot  boast  perfection 
of  features, — she  is  frequently  hidden  away  altogether 
in  a  room  and  scarcely  noticed.  And  so  she  reminds 
me  of  a  certain  flower  known  to  the  Eastern  nations, 
which  is  difficult  to  find,  because  so  fragile  and  small  that 
it  can  scarcely  be  seen,  but  when  it  is  found,  and  the 
scent  of  it  unwittingly  inhaled,  it  drives  men  mad !  " 

Gherardi  looked  at  him  with  a  broadly  wondering 
smile. 

"  You  speak  so  eloquently,"  he  said,  "that  one  would 
almost  fancy " 

"  Fancy  nothing !  "  retorted  Moretti  quickly,  "  Fancy 
and  I  are  as  far  apart  as  the  poles,  except  in  the  putting 
together  of  words,  in  which  easy  art  I  daresay  I  am  as 


312  The  Master-Christian. 

great  an  adept  as  Florian  Varillo,  who  can  write  verses 
on  love  or  patriotism  to  order,  without  experiencing  a 
touch  of  either  emotion.  What  a  humbug  by  the  way, 
that  fellow  is ! — "  and  Moretti  broke  off  to  consider  this 
new  point — "  He  rants  of  the  honour  of  Italy,  and  would 
not  let  his  finger  ache  for  her  cause !  And  he  professes 
to  love  the  '  Sovrani '  while  all  Rome  knows  that  Pon- 
Pon  is  his  mistress !  " 

Gherardi  wisely  held  his  peace. 

"  The  Comtesse  Sylvie  Hermenstein  is  the  little  magic 
flower  you  must  use ;  "  resumed  Moretti,  emphasising  his 
words  with  an  authoritative  movement  of  his  hand,  "  Use 
her  to  madden  Aubrey  Leigh.  Bring  them  together ; — 
he  will  lose  his  head  as  surely  as  all  men  do  when  they 
come  under  the  influence  of  that  soft  deep-eyed  creature, 
with  the  full  white  breast  of  a  dove,  and  the  smile  of  an 
angel, — and  remember,  it  would  be  an  excellent  thing 
for  the  Church  if  he  could  be  persuaded  to  marry  her, — 

there  would  be  no  more  preaching  then ! for  the 

thoughts  of  love  would  outweigh  the  theories  of  re- 
ligion." 

"  You  think  it  ?  "  queried  Gherardi  dubiously. 

"  I  know  it !  "  replied  Moretti  rising,  and  preparing  to 
take  his  departure,  "  But, — play  the  game  cautiously ! 
Make  no  false  move.  For — understand  me  well,  this  man 
Leigh  must  be  silenced, or  we  shall  lose  England !  " 

And  with  these  last  words  he  turned  abruptly  on  his 
heel  and  left  the  apartment. 


XXII. 

CARDINAL  FELIX  BONPRE  sat  alone  in  the  largest  ana 
loneliest  room  of  the  large  and  lonely  suite  of  rooms  al- 
lotted to  him  in  the  Palazzo  Sovrani, — alone  at  a  massive 
writing  table  near  the  window,  his  head  resting  on  one 
hand,  and  his  whole  figure  expressive  of  the  most  pro- 
found dejection.  In  front  of  him  an  ancient  silver  crucifix 
gleamed  in  the  flicker  of  the  small  wood  fire  which  had 
been  kindled  in  the  wide  cavernous  chimney — and  a  black- 
bound  copy  of  the  Gospels  lay  open  as  if  but  lately  con- 
sulted. The  faded  splendour  of  certain  gold  embroidered 
hangings  on  the  walls  added  to  the  solemn  and  melan- 
choly aspect  of  the  apartment,  and  the  figure  of  the  ven- 
erable prelate  seen  in  such  darkening  gloom  and  solitude, 
was  the  crowning  completion  of  an  expressive  and  pa- 
thetic picture  of  patient  desolation.  So  might  a  martyi- 
of  the  Inquisition  have  looked  while  the  flames  were  get- 
ting ready  to  burn  him  for  the  love  of  the  gentle  Saviour ; 
and  something  of  the  temper  of  such  a  possible  pred- 
ecessor was  in  the  physically  frail  old  man,  who  just 
now  was  concentrating  all  the  energies  of  his  mind  on 
the  consideration  of  a  difficult  question  which  is  often 
asked  by  many  hearts  in  secret,  but  is  seldom  voiced  to 
the  public  ear ; — "  Christ  or  the  Church  ?  Which  must  I 
follow  to  be  an  honest  man  ?  " 

Never  had  the  good  Cardinal  been  in  such  a  strange 
predicament.  Living  away  from  the  great  centres  of 
thought  and  action,  he  had  followed  a  gentle  and  placid 
course  of  existence,  almost  unruffled,  save  by  the  outside 
murmurs  of  a  growing  public  discontent  which  had 
reached  him  through  the  medium  of  current  literature,  and 
had  given  him  cause  to  think  uneasily  of  possible  dis- 
aster for  the  religious  world  in  the  near  future, — but  he 
had  never  gone  so  far  as  to  imagine  that  the  Head  of 
the  Church  would,  while  being  perfectly  conscious  of  ex- 
isting threatening  evils,  deliberately  turn  his  back  to  ap- 
peals for  help, — shut  his  ears  to  the  cry  of  the  "  lost 


314  The  Master-Christian. 

sheep  of  the  House  of  Israel  ",  and  even  endeavour,  with 
an  impotence  of  indignation  which  was  as  pitiable  as  use- 
less, to  shake  a  rod  of  Twelfth-century  menace  over  the 
advancement  of  the  Twentieth ! 

"  For  the  onward  movement  of  Humanity  is  God's 
work,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  And  what  are  we — what  is 
even  the  Church — when  it  does  not  move  side  by  side  in 
perfect  and  pure  harmony  with  the  order  of  Divine  Law  ?  " 

And  he  was  bitterly  troubled  in  spirit.  He  had  spent 
the  whole  morning  at  the  Vatican,  and  the  manner  of  his 
reception  there  had  been  so  curiously  divided  between 
flattery  and  reproach  that  he  had  not  known  what  to 
make  of  it.  The  Pope  had  been  tetchy  and  querulous, — 
precisely  in  such  a  humour  as  one  naturally  expects  so 
aged  a  man  to  be  when  contradicted  on  any  matter, 
whether  trivial  or  important.  For  with  such  advanced 
years  the  faculties  are  often  as  brittle  as  the  bones,  and 
the  failing  powers  of  the  brain  are  often  brought  to  bear 
with  more  concentration  on  inconsiderable  trifles  than 
on  the  large  and  important  affairs  of  life.  He  had  ques- 
tioned the  Cardinal  closely  concerning  the  miraculous 
cure  performed  at  Rouen,  and  had  become  excessively 
angry  when  the  honest  prelate  earnestly  disclaimed  all 
knowledge  of  it.  He  had  then  confronted  him  with 
Claude  Cazeau,  the  secretary  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Rouen,  and  Cazeau  had  given  a  clear  and  concise  account 
of  the  whole  matter,  stating  that  the  child,  Fabien  Dou- 
cet,  had  been  known  in  Rouen  since  his  babyhood  as  a 
helpless  cripple,  and  that  after  Cardinal  Bonpre  had 
prayed  over  him  and  laid  hands  on  him,  he  had  been  mir- 
aculously cured,  and  was  now  to  be  seen  running  about 
the  city  as  strong  and  straight  as  any  other  healthy  child. 
And  Bonpre  listened  patiently ; — and  to  all  that  was  said, 
merely  reiterated  that  if  the  child  zvere  so  cured,  then  it 
was  by  the  special  intervention  of  God,  as  he  personally 
had  done  no  more  than  pray  for  his  restoration.  But  to 
his  infinite  amazement  and  distress  he  saw  plainly  that 
the  Holy  Father  did  not  believe  him.  He  saw  that  he 
was  suspected  of  playing  a  trick, — a  trick,  which  if  he 
had  admitted,  would  have  been  condoned,  but  which  if  he 
denied,  would  cause  him  to  be  looked  upon  with  distrust 
by  all  the  Vatican  party.  He  saw  that  even  the  man 
Cazeau  suspected  him.  And  then, — when  the  public  con- 


The  Master-Christian.  315 

fession  of  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  came  under  discussion, 
— the  Pope  had  gathered  together  all  the  visible  remains 
of  physical  force  his  attenuated  frame  could  muster,  and 
had  hurled  himself  impotently  against  the  wall  of  op- 
posing fact  with  such  frail  fury  as  almost  to  suggest  the 
celebrated  simile  of  "  a  reed  shaken  with  the  wind  ".  In 
vain  had  the  Cardinal  pleaded  for  Vergniaud's  pardon ;  in 
vain  had  he  urged  that  after  all,  the  sinner  had  branded 
himself  as  such  in  the  sight  of  all  men ;  what  further  need 
to  add  the  ban  of  the  Church's  excommunication  against 
one  who  was  known  to  be  within  touch  of  death  ?  Would 
not  Christ  have  said,  "  Go,  and  sin  no  more  "?  But  this 
simple  quotation  from  the  Gospels  seemed  to  enrage  the 
representative  of  St.  Peter  more  violently  than  before, 
and  when  Bonpre  left  the  Holy  Presence  he  knew  well 
enough  that  he  was,  for  no  fault  of  his  own,  under  the 
displeasure  of  the  Vatican.  How  had  it  all  come  about? 
Nothing  could  have  been  simpler  than  his  life  and  ac- 
tions since  he  left  his  own  Cathedral-town, — he  had 
prayed  for  a  sick  child, — he  had  sympathised  -faith  a  sorry 
sinner, — that  ^'as  all.  And  such  deeds  as  these  were  com- 
manded by  Christ.  Yet — the  Head  of  the  Church  for 
these  same  things  viewed  him  with  wrath  and  suspicion ! 
Wearily  he  sat,  turning  over  everything  in  his  mind,  and 
longing,  with  a  weakness  which  he  fully  admitted  to  his 
own  conscience,  to  leave  Rome  at  once  and  return  to  his 
own  home,  there  to  die  among  his  roses  at  peace.  But 
he  saw  it  would  never  do  to  leave  Rome  just  yet.  He 
was  bound  fast  hand  and  foot.  He  was  "  suspect  " !  In 
his  querulous  fit  the  Pope  had  ordered  Claude  Cazeau  to 
return  to  Rouen  without  delay,  and  there  gather  further 
evidence  respecting  the  Cardinal's  stay  at  the  Hotel  Poi- 
tiers, and  if  possible,  to  bring  the  little  Fabien  Doucet 
and  his  mother  back  to  Rome  with  him.  Pending  the  ar- 
rival of  fresh  proof,  Bonpre,  though  he  had  received  no 
actual  command,  knew  he  was  expected  to  remain  where 
he  was.  Weary  and  sick  at  heart,  the  venerable  prelate 
sighed  as  he  reviewed  all  the  entangling  perplexities, 
which  had,  so  unconsciously  to  himself,  become  woven 
like  a  web  about  his  innocent  and  harmless  personality, 
and  so  absorbed  was  he  in  thought  that  he  did  not  hear 
the  door  of  his  room  open,  and  so  was  not  aware  that  his 
foundling  Manuel  had  stood  for  some  time  silently  watch- 


316 


The  Master-Christian. 


ing  him.  Such  love  and  compassion  as  were  expressed  in 
the  boy's  deep  blue  eyes  could  not  however  radiate  long 
through  any  space  without  some  sympathetic  response, — 
and  moved  by  instinctive  emotion,  Cardinal  Felix  looked 
up,  and  seeing  his  young  companion  smiled, — albeit  the 
smile  was  a  somewhat  sad  one. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  my  child?  "  he  asked  gently, 
"  I  have  missed  you  for  some  hours." 

Manuel  advanced  a  little,  and  stood  between  the  pale 
afternoon  light  reflected  through  the  window,  and  the 
warmer  glow  of  the  wood  fire. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  strangest  place  in  all  the  world !  " 
he  answered,  "  The  strangest, — and  surely  one  of  the 
most  wicked !  " 

The  Cardinal  raised  himself  in  his  chair,  and  bent  an 
anxious  wondering  look  upon  the  young  speaker. 

"  One  of  the  most  wicked !  "  he  echoed,  "  What  place 
are  you  talking  of  ?  " 

"  St.  Peter's !  "  answered  Manuel,  with  a  thrill  of  pas- 
sion in  his'voice  as  he  uttered  the  name,  "  St.  Peter's, — 
the  huge  Theatre  misnamed  a  Church !  Oh,  dear  friend  ! 
— do  not  look  at  me  thus  !  Surely  you  must  feel  that  what 
I  say  is  true?  Surely  you  know  that  there  is  nothing  of 
the  loving  God  in  that  vast  Cruelty  of  a  place,  where 
wealth  and  ostentation  vie  with  intolerant  officialism,  big- 
otry and  superstition! — where  even  the  marble  columns 
have  been  stolen  from  the  temples  of  a  sincerer  Paganism, 
and  still  bear  the  names  of  Isis  and  Jupiter  wrought  in 
the  truthful  stone ; — where  theft,  rapine  and  murder  have 
helped  to  build  the  miscalled  Christian  fane !  You  can- 
not in  your  heart  of  hearts  feel  it  to  be  the  abode  of 
Christ ;  your  soul,  bared  to  the  sight  of  God,  repudiates 

it  as  a  Lie !  Yes !  " For,  startled  and  carried  away  by 

the  boy's  fervour,  Cardinal  Felix  had  risen,  and  now  stood 
upright,  making  a  feeble  gesture  with  his  hands,  as  though 
seeking  to  keep  back  the  crushing  weight  of  some  too 
overwhelming  conviction,—"  Yes — you  would  silence  me ! 
— but  you  cannot ! — I  read  your  heart !  You  love  God 
.  .  .  and  I — I  love  Him  too !  You  would  serve  Him  ! — and 
I — I  would  obey  Him  !  Ah,  do  not  struggle  with  yourself, 
dear  and  noble  friend !  If  you  were  thrice  crowned  a 
martyr  and  saint  you  could  not  see  otherwise  than  clearly 
— you  could  not  but  accept  Truth  when  Truth  is  mani- 


The  Master-Christian.  317 

fested  to  you, — you  could  not  swear  falsely  before  God ! 
Would  the  Christ  not  say  now  as  He  said  so  many  cen- 
turies ago — '  My  House  is  called  the  house  of  prayer, 
but  ye  have  made  it  a  den  of  thieves ! '  Is  it  not  truh 
a  den  of  thieves?  What  has  the  Man  of  Sorrows  to  do 
with  all  the  evil  splendour  of  St.  Peter's? — its  bronzes, 
its  marbles,  its  colossal  statues  of  dead  gods,  its  glittering 
altars,  its  miserable  dreary  immensity,  its  flaring  gilding 
and  insolent  vulgarity  of  cost !  Oh,  what  a  loneliness  is 
that  of  Christ  in  this  world!  What  a  second  Agony  in 
Gethsemane !  " 

The  sweet  voice  broke — the  fair  head  was  turned  away, 
— and  Cardinal  Felix,  overcome  by  such  emotion  as  he 
found  it  impossible  to  explain,  suddenly  sank  on  his 
knees,  and  stretched  out  his  arms  to  the  young  slight 
creature  who  spoke  with  such  a  passion  and  intensity  of 
yearning. 

"  Child !  "  he  said,  with  tremulous  appeal  in  his  ac- 
cents, "  For  God's  sake ! — you  who  express  your  thoughts 
with  s"ch  eloquence  and  fervent  pain ! — tell  me,  Who  are 
you?  My  mind  is  caught  and  controlled  by  your  words, 
— you  are  too  young  to  think  as  you  do,  or  to  speak  as 
you  do, — yet  some  authority  you  seem  to  possess,  which 
I  submit  to,  not  knowing  why ;  I  am  very  old,  and  maybe 
growing  foolish  in  my  age many  troubles  are  gath- 
ering about  me  in  these  latter  days, — do  not  make  them 
more  than  I  can  bear !  " 

His  words  were  to  himself  incoherent,  and  yet  it  seemed 
as  if  Manuel  understood  them.  Suffering  himself  to  be 
clasped  for  a  moment  by  the  old  man's  trembling  hands, 
he  nevertheless  gently  persuaded  and  assisted  him  to  rise, 
and  when  he  was  once  more  seated,  stood  quietly  by  his 
side,  waiting  till  he  should  have  recovered  from  his  sud- 
den agitation. 

"  Dear  friend,  you  are  weary  and  troubled  in  spirit," 
he  said  tenderly  then,  "  And  my  words  seem  to  you  only 
terrible  because  they  are  true !  If  they  grieve  you,  it  is 
because  the  grief  in  your  heart  echoes  mine !  And  if  I  do 
think  and  speak  more  seriously  than  I  should,  it  is  for 
the  reason  that  I  have  been  so  much  alone  in  the  world, 
— left  to  myself,  with  my  own  thoughts  of  God,  which 
are  not  thoughts  such  as  many  care  for.  I  would  not 
add  to  your  sorrows, — I  would  rather  lighten  them  if  I 


318  The  Master-Christian. 

could — but  I  feel  and  fear  that  I  shall  be  a  burden  upon 
you  before  long !  " 

"  Never! ''  exclaimed  Bonpre  fervently,  "  Never  a  bur- 
den on  me,  child !  Surely  while  I  live  you  will  not 
leave  me  ?  " 

Manuel  was  silent  for  a  little  space.  His  eyes  wan- 
dered from  the  Cardinal's  venerable  worn  features  to  the 
upstanding  silver  crucifix  that  gleamed  dully  in  the  glow 
of  the  wood-embers. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you  unless  it  is  well  for  you  that  I 
should  go,"  he  answered  at  last,  "  And  even  then,  you  will 
always  know  where  to  find  me." 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and  with  a 
searching  interrogation, — but  the  boy's  face  though 
sweetly  composed,  had  a  certain  gravity  of  expression 
which  seemed  to  forbid  further  questioning.  And  a  deep 
silence  fell  between  them, — a  silence  which  was  only 
broken  by  the  door  opening  to  admit  Prince  Sovrani  who, 
pausing  on  the  threshold,  said, 

"  Brother,  if  you  will  allow  yourself  to  be  disturbed, 
Angela  would  like  to  see  you  in  her  studio.  There  are 
several  people  there, — her  fiance,  Varillo  among  the  num- 
ber,— and  I  think  the  girl  would  be  glad  of  your  pres- 
ence." 

The  Cardinal  started  as  from  a  dream,  and  rose  from 
his  chair. 

"  I  will  come  at  once — yes — I  will  come,"  he  said,  "  I 
must  not  be  selfish  and  think  only  of  my  own  troubles !  " 
He  stood  erect, — he  was  still  in  the  scarlet  robes  in  which 
he  had  made  his  appearance  at  the  Vatican,  and  they  fell 
regally  about  his  tall  dignified  form,  the  vivid  colour  in- 
tensifying the  pallor  of  his  thin  features.  A  servant  en- 
tering at  the  moment  with  two  large  silver  candelabra 
ablaze  with  lights,  created  an  effect  of  luminance  in  the 
room  that  made  him  appear  to  even  greater  advantage 
as  an  imposing  figure  of  ecclesiastical  authority,  and 
Prince  Pietro  looked  at  him  with  the  admiring  affection 
and  respect  which  he,  though  a  cynic  and  sceptic,  had  al- 
ways felt  for  the  brother  of  his  wife, — affection  and  re- 
spect which  had  if  anything  become  intensified  since 
that  beloved  one's  untimely  death. 

"  You  were  well  received  at  the  Vatican  ? "  he  said 
tentatively. 


The  Master-Christian.  319 

"  Not  so  well  as  I  had  hoped,"  replied  the  Cardinal  pa- 
tiently— "  Not  so  well !  But  the  cloud  will  pass.  I  will 
go  with  you  to  the  studio, — Manuel,  will  you  stay  here?  " 

Manuel  bent  his  head  in  assent ;  he  had  just  closed  the 
before  open  copy  of  the  Gospels,  and  now  stood  with  his 
hand  upon  the  Book. 

"  I  will  wait  till  you  call  me,  my  lord  Cardinal,"  he  re- 
plied. 

Prince  Pietro  then  led  the  way,  and  Cardinal  Bonpre 
followed,  his  scarlet  robes  sweeping  behind  him  with  a 
rich  rustling  sound,  and  as  the  two  entered  the  large  lofty 
studio,  hung  with  old  tapestries,  and  panelled  with  deeply 
carved  and  gilded  oak,  the  room  which  was  Angela  Sov- 
rani's  special  sanctum,  all  the  persons  there  assembled 
rose  from  their  different  sitting  or  lounging  attitudes, 
and  respectfully  bent  their  heads  to  the  brief  and  unos- 
tentatious benediction  given  to  them  by  the  venerable 
prelate  of  whom  all  present  had  heard,  but  few  had  seen, 
and  everyone  made  way  for  him  as  Angela  met  and  es- 
corted him  to  a  seat  on  one  of  the  old,  throne-like  chairs 
with  which  the  Sovrani  palace  was  so  amply  supplied. 
When  he  was  thus  installed,  he  made  the  picturesque 
centre  of  a  brilliant  little  scene  enough, — one  of  those  vi- 
vacious and  bright  gatherings  which  can  be  found  no- 
where so  perfectly  blended  in  colour  and  in  movement  as 
in  a  great  art-studio  in  Rome.  Italians  are  not  afraid 
to  speak,  to  move,  to  smile, — unlike  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race,  their  ease  of  manner  is  inborn,  and  comes  to  them 
without  training,  hence  there  is  nothing  of  the  stiff 
formality  and  awkward  gloom  which  too  frequently  hangs 
like  a  cloud  over  English  attempts  at  sociality, — and  that 
particular  charm  which  is  contained  in  the  brightness  and 
flashing  of  eyes,  creates  a  dazzling  effect  absolutely  un- 
known to  colder  northern  climes.  Eyes, — so  potent  to  be- 
witch and  to  command,  are  a  strangely  neglected  influence 
in  certain  forms  of  social  intercourse.  English  eyes  are 
too  often  dull  and  downcast,  and  wear  an  inane  expres- 
sion of  hypocrisy  and  prudery ;  unless  they  happen  to  be 
hard  and  glittering  and  meaningless ;  but  in  southern 
climes,  they  throw  out  radiant  invitations,  laughing  assur- 
ances, brilliant  mockeries,  melting  tendernesses,  by  the 
thousand  flashes,  and  make  a  fire  of  feeling  in  the  coldest 
air.  And  so  in  Angela's  beautiful  studio,  among  the  white- 


320  The  Master-Christian. 

ness  of  classic  marbles,  and  the  soft  hues  of  richly  falling 
draperies,  fair  faces  shone  out  like  flowers,  lit  up  by  eyes, 
whose  light  seemed  to  be  vividly  kindled  by  the  heat  of  an 
amorous  southern  sun, — Venetian  eyes  blue  as  a  corn- 
flower, Florentine  eyes  brown  and  brilliant  as  a  russet  leaf 
in  autumn,  Roman  eyes  black  as  night,  Sicilian  eyes  of 
all  hues,  full  of  laughter  and  flame — and  yet  among  all, 
no  sweeter  or  more  penetratingly  tender  eyes  than  those 
of  Sylvie  Hermenstein  ever  shot  glances  abroad  to  be- 
wilder and  dazzle  the  heart  of  man.  Not  in  largeness, 
colour  or  brilliancy  lay  their  charm,  but  in  deep,  langour- 
ous,  concentrated  sweetness, — a  sweetness  so  far-reach- 
ing from  the  orb  to  the  soul  that  it  was  easy  to  sink  away 
into  their  depths  and  dream, — and  never  wish  to  wake. 
Sylvie  was  looking  her  fairest  that  afternoon, — the 
weather  was  chilly,  and  the  close-fitting  black  velvet  dress 
with  its  cape-like  collar  of  rich  sables,  well  became  her 
figure  and  delicately  fair  complexion,  and  many  a  spiteful 
little  whisper  concerning  her  went  round  among  more 
showy  but  less  attractive  women, — many  an  involuntary 
but  low  murmur  of  admiration  escaped  from  the  more 
cautious  lips  of  the  men.  She  was  talking  to  the 
Princesse  D'Agramont,  who  with  her  brilliant  dark- 
beauty  could  afford  to  confess  ungrudgingly  the  charm 
of  a  woman  so  spirituelle  as  Sylvie,  and  who,  between 
various  careless  nods  and  smiles  to  her  acquaintance,  was 
detailing  to  her  with  much  animation  the  account  of  her 
visit  to  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  before  leaving  Paris. 

"  He  must  be  very  epris ! "  said  the  Princesse  laugh- 
ing, "  For  he  froze  into  a  rigid  statue  of  virtue  when  I 
suggested  that  he  should  escort  me  to  Rome !  I  did  not 
wait  to  see  the  effect  of  my  announcement  that  you  were 
already  there !  " 

Sylvie  lowered  her  eyes,  and  a  faint  colour  crimsoned 
her  cheeks. 

"  Then  he  knows  where  I  am?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  he  believes  me,  he  knows,"  replied  Loyse  D'Agra- 
mont, "  But  perhaps  he  does  not  believe  me !  All  Paris 
was  talking  about  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  and  his  son  '  Gys 
Grandit ',  when  I  left,  and  the  Marquis  appeared  as  in- 
terested in  that  esclandre  as  he  can  ever  be  interested  in 
anything  or  anybody.  So  perhaps  he  forgot  my  visit 
as  soon  as  it  was  ended.  Abbe  Vergniaud  is  very  ill  by 


The  Master-Christian.  321 

the  way.  His  self-imposed  punishment,  and  his  unex- 
pected reward  in  the  personality  of  his  son,  have  proved 
a  little  too  much  for  him, — both  he  and  '  Grandit '  are  at 
my  Chateau,"  here  she  raised  her  lorgnon,  and  peered 
through  it  with  an  inquisitive  air,  "  Tiens!  There  is  the 
dear  Yarillo  making  himself  agreeable  as  usual  to  all  the 
ladies !  When  does  the  marriage  come  off  between  him 
and  our  gifted  Sovrani  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  Sylvie,  with  a  little  dubious 
look,  "  Nothing  is  contemplated  in  that  way  until  An- 
gela's great  picture  is  exhibited." 

The  Princesse  D'Agramont  looked  curiously  at  the  op- 
posite wall  where  an  enormous  white  covering  was  closely 
roped  and  fastened  across  an  invisible  canvas,  which 
seemed  to  be  fully  as  large  as  Raffaelle's  "  Transfigur- 
ation ". 

"  Still  a  mystery?  "  she  queried,  "  Has  she  never  shown 
it  even  to  you  ?  " 

Sylvie  shook  her  head. 

"  Never !  "  and  then  breaking  off  with  a  sudden  excla- 
mation she  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  door  where 
there  was  just  now  a  little  movement  and  murmur  of 
interest,  as  the  slim  tall  figure  of  a  man  moved  slowly 
and  with  graceful  courtesy  through  the  assemblage  to- 
wards that  corner  of  the  studio  where  the  Cardinal  sat, 
his  niece  standing  near  him,  and  there  made  a  slight  yet 
perfectly  reverential  obeisance. 

"  Mr.  Leigh !  "  cried  Angela,  "  How  glad  I  am  to  see 
you !  " 

"  And  I  too,"  said  the  Cardinal,  extending  his  hand, 
and  kindly  raising  Aubrey  before  he  could  complete  his 
formal  genuflection,  "  You  have  not  wasted  much  of  your 
time  in  Florence !  " 

"  My  business  was  soon  ended  there,"  replied  Aubrey. 
"  It  merely  concerned  the  saving  of  a  famous  religious 
picture — but  I  find  the  modern  Florentines  so  dead  to 
beauty  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  rouse  them  to  any 
sort  of  exertion  .  .  .  "  Here  he  paused,  as  Angela  with 
a  smile  moved  quickly  past  him  saying, 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Leigh !  I  must  introduce  you  to 
one  of  my  dearest  friends !  " 

He  waited,  with  a  curious  sense  of  impatience,  and  full 
beating  of  his  heart,  answering  quite  mechanically  one 


322  The  Master-Christian. 

or  two  greetings  from  Florian  Varillo  and  other  acquain- 
tances who  knew  and  recognised  him — and  then  felt, 
rather  than  saw,  that  he  was  looking  into  the  deep  sweet 
eyes  of  the  woman  who  had  Hung  him  a  rose  from  the 
balcony  of  tjie  angels,  and  that  her  face,  sweet  as  the  rose 
itself,  was  smiling  upon  him.  As  in  a  dream  he  heard 
her  name,  "  The  Comtesse  Sylvie  Hermenstein  "  and  his 
own,  "  Mr.  Aubrey  Leigh  " ;  he  was  dimly  aware  of  bow- 
ing, and  of  saying  something  vague  and  formal,  but  all 
the  actuality  of  his  being  was  for  the  moment  shaken  and 
transfigured,  and  only  one  strong  and  overwhelming 
conviction  remained, — the  conviction  that,  in  the  slight 
creature  who  stood  before  him  gracefully  acknowledg- 
ing his  salutation,  he  had  met  his  fate.  Now  he  under- 
stood as  he  had  never  done  before  what  the  poet-philoso- 
pher meant  by  "  the  celestial  rapture  falling  out  of 
heaven  " ; — for  that  rapture  fell  upon  him  and  caught 
him  up  in  a  cloud  of  glory,  with  all  the  suddenness  and 
fervour  which  must  ever  attend  the  true  birth  of  the  di- 
vine passion  in  strong  and  tender  natures.  The  calcu- 
lating sensualist  can  never  comprehend  this  swiftly  ex- 
alted emotion,  this  immediate  radiation  of  light  through 
all  life,  which  is  like  the  sun  breaking  through  clouds  on 
a  dark  day.  The  sensualist  has  by  self-indulgence,  blunted 
the  edge  of  feeling,  and  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  ex- 
perience this  delicate  sensation  of  exquisite  delight, — this 
marvellous  assurance  that  here  and  now,  face  to  face, 
stands  the  One  for  whom  all  time  shall  be  merged  into 
a  Song  of  Love,  and  upon  whom  all  the  sweetest  thoughts 
of  imagination  shall  be  brought  to  bear  for  the  further- 
ance of  mutual  joy !  Aubrey's  strong  spirit,  set  to  stern 
labour  for  so  long,  and  trained  to  toil  with  but  scant  peace 
for  reward,  now  sprang  up  as  it  were  to  its  full  height 
of  capability  and  resolution, — yet  its  power  was  tempered 
with  that  tender  humility  which,  in  a  noble-hearted  man, 
bends  before  the  presence  of  the  woman  whose  love  for 
him  shall  make  her  sacred.  All  his  instincts  bade  him 
recognise  Sylvie  as  the  completion  and  fulfilment  of  his 
life,  and  this  consciousness  was  so  strong  and  impera- 
tive that  it  made  him  more  than  gentle  to  her  as  he  spoke 
his  first  few  words,  and  obtained  her  consent  to  escort 
her  to  a  seat  not  far  off  from  the  Cardinal,  yet  removed 
sufficiently  from  the  rest  of  the  people  to  enable  them 


The  Master-Christian.  323 

to  converse  uninterruptedly  for  a  time.  Angela  watched 
them,  well  pleased ; — she  too  had  quick  instincts,  and  as 
she  noted  Sylvia's  sudden  flush  under  the  deepening  ad- 
miration of  Aubrey's  eyes,  she  thought  to  herself,  "If  it 
could  only  be !  If  she  could  forget  Fontenelle — if " 

But  here  her  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  her  own 
"  ideal ", — Florian  Varillo  who,  catching  her  hand 
abruptly,  drew  her  aside  for  a  moment. 

"  Carissima  niia,  why  did  you  not  introduce  the 
Princesse  D'Agramont  to  Mr.  Leigh  rather  than  the  Com- 
tesse  Hermenstein?  The  Princesse  is  of  his  way  of 
thinking, — Sylvie  is  not !  "  and  he  finished  his  sentence 
by  slipping  an  arm  round  her  waist  quickly,  and  whisper- 
ing a  word  which  brought  the  colour  to  her  cheeks  and 
the  sparkle  to  her  eyes,  and  made  her  heart  beat  so 
quickly  that  she  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Yet  she 
was  supposed  by  the  very  man  whose  embrace  thus  moved 
her,  to  be  "  passionless !  " 

"  You  must  not  call  her  '  Sylvie ',"  she  answered  at 
last,  "  She  does  not  like  such  familiarity — even  from 
you !  " 

"  Xo?  Did  she  tell  you  so?"  and  Florian  laughed, 
"  What  a  confiding  little  darling  you  are,  Angela !  I  as- 
sure you,  Sylvie  Hermenstein  is  not  so  very  particular — 
but  there ! — I  will  not  say  a  word  against  any  friend  of 
yours !  But  do  you  not  see  she  is  already  trying  to  make 
a  fool  of  Aubrey  Leigh?" 

Angela  looked  across  the  room  and  saw  Leigh's  intel- 
lectual head  bending  closely  towards  the  soft  gold  of  Syl- 
vie's  hair,  and  smiled. 

"  I  do  not  think  Sylvie  would  willingly  make  a  fool  of 
anyone,"  she  answered  simply,  "  She  is  too  loyal  and  sin- 
cere. I  fancy  you  do  not  understand  her,  Florian.  She 
is  full  of  fascination,  but  she  is  not  heartless." 

But  Florian  entertained  a  very  lively  remembrance  of 
the  recent  rebuff  given  to  himself  by  the  fair  Comtesse, 
and  took  his  masculine  vengeance  by  the  suggested  in- 
nuendo of  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  and  a  lifting  of  his 
eyebrows.  But  he  said  no  more  just  then,  and  merely 
contented  himself  with  coaxingly  abstracting  a  rose  out  of 
Angela's  bodice,  kissing  it,  and  placing  it  in  his  own 
buttonhole.  This  was  one  of  his  "  pretty  drawing-room 
tricks "  according  to  Loyse  D'Agramont,  who  always 


324  The  Master-Christian. 

laughed  unmercifully  at  these  kind  of  courtesies.  They 
had  been  the  stock-in-trade  of  her  late  husband,  and  she 
knew  exactly  what  value  to  set  upon  them.  But  Angela 
was  easily  moved  by  tenderness,  and  the  smallest  word 
of  love,  the  lightest  caress  made  her  happy  and  satisfied 
for  a  long  time.  She  had  the  simple  primitive  notions 
of  an  innocent  woman  who  could  not  possibly  imagine 
infidelity  in  a  sworn  love.  Looking  at  her  sweet  face, 
earnest  eyes,  and  slim  graceful  figure  now,  as  she  moved 
away  from  Florian  Varillo's  side,  and  passed  glidingly 
in  and  out  among  her  guests,  the  Princesse  D'Agramont, 
always  watchful,  wondered  with  a  half  sigh  how  she 
would  take  the  blow  of  disillusion  if  it  ever  came ;  would 
it  crush  her,  or  would  she  rise  the  nobler  and  stronger 
for  it? 

"  Many  a  one  here  in  this  room  to-day,"  mused  the 
Princesse,  "  would  be  glad  if  she  fell  vanquished  in  the 
hard  fight !  Many  a  man — shameful  as  it  seems — would 
give  a  covert  kick  to  her  poor  body.  For  there  is  noth- 
ing that  frets  and  irks  some  male  creatures  so  much  as  to 
see  a  woman  attain  by  her  own  brain  and  hand  a  great 
position  in  the  world,  and  when  she  has  won  her  crown 
and  throne  they  would  deprive  her  of  both,  and  trample 
her  in  the  mud  if  they  dared !  Some  male  creatures — 
not  all.  Florian  Varillo  for  instance.  If  he  could  only 
get  the  world  to  believe  that  he  paints  half  Angela's  pic- 
tures he  would  be  quite  happy.  I  daresay  he  does  per- 
suade a  few  outsiders  to  think  it.  But  in  Rome  we  know 
better.  Poor  Angela !  " 

And  with  another  sigh  she  dismissed  the  subject  from 
her  mind  for  the  moment,  her  attention  being  distracted 
by  the  appearance  of  Monsignor  Gherardi,  who  just  then 
entered  and  took  up  a  position  by  the  Cardinal's  chair, 
looking  the  picture  of  imposing  and  stately  affability. 
One  glance  of  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  Aubrey  Leigh, 
where  he  sat  absorbed  in  conversation  with  the  Comtesse 
Hermenstein,  had  put  the  wily  priest  in  an  excellent 
humour,  and  nothing  could  exceed  the  deferential  homage 
and  attention  he  paid  to  Cardinal  Bonpre,  talking  with 
him  in  low,  confidential  tones  of  the  affairs  which  prin- 
cipally occupied  their  attention, — the  miraculous  cure  of 
Fabien  Doucet,  and  the  defection  of  Vergniaud  from  the 
Church.  Earnestly  did  the  good  Felix,  thinking  Gher- 


The  Master-Christian.  325 

ardi  was  a  friend,  explain  again  his  utter  unconsciousness 
of  any  miracle  having  been  performed  at  his  hands,  and 
with  equal  fervour  did  he  plead  the  cause  of  Vergniaud, 
in  the  spirit  and  doctrine  of  Christ,  pointing  out  that  the 
erring  Abbe  was,  without  any  subterfuge  at  all,  truly 
within  proximity  of  death,  and  that  therefore  it  seemed 
an  almost  unnecessary  cruelty  to  set  the  ban  of  excommu- 
nication against  a  repentant  and  dying  man.  Gherardi 
heard  all,  with  a  carefully  arranged  facial  expression  of 
sympathetic  interest  and  benevolence,  but  gave  neither 
word  nor  sign  of  active  partisanship  in  any  cause.  He  had 
another  commission  in  charge  from  Moretti,  and  he 
worked  the  conversation  dexterously  on,  til!  he  touched 
the  point  of  his  secret  errand. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said  gently,  "  among  your  many 
good  and  kindly  works,  I  hear  you  have  rescued  a  poor 
stray  boy  from  the  streets  of  Rouen — and  that  he  is 
with  you  now.  Is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Quite  true,"  replied  the  Cardinal,  "  But  no  par- 
ticular goodness  can  be  accredited  to  any  servant  of 
the  Gospel  for  trying  to  rescue  an  orphan  child  from 
misery." 

"  No — no,  certainly  not !  "  assented  Gherardi 

"  But  it  is  seldom  that  one  as  exalted  in  dignity  as  yourself 

condescends ah,  pardon  me ! — you  do  not  like  that 

word  I  see !  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  it  in  our  work,"  said  the  Car- 
dinal, "  There  can  be  no  '  condescension  '  in  saving  the 
lost." 

Gherardi  was  silent  a  moment,  smiling  a  little  to  him- 
self. "What  a  simpleton  is  this  Saint  Felix!"  he 
thought.  "  What  a  fool  to  run  amuck  at  his  own  chances 
of  distinction  and  eminence !  " 

"  And  the  boy  is  clever  ?  "  he  said  presently  in  kindly 
accents — "  Docile  in  conduct  ? — and  useful  to  you  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  wonderful  child !  "  answered  the  Cardinal 
with  unsuspecting  candour  and  feeling,  "  Thoughtful  be- 
yond his  years, — wise  beyond  his  experience." 

Gherardi  shot  a  quick  glance  from  under  his  eyelids 
at  the  fine  tranquil  face  of  the  venerable  speaker,  and 
again  smiled. 

"  You  have  no  further  knowledge  of  him  ? — no  clue  to 
his  parentage  ?  " 


326  The  Master-Christian. 

"  None." 

Just  then  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  little 
movement  of  eagerness, — people  were  pressing  towards 
the  grand  piano  which  Florian  Varillo  had  opened, — the 
Comtess^  Sylvie  Hermenstein  was  about  to  grant  a  gen- 
eral request  made  to  her  for  a  song.  She  moved  slowly 
and  with  a  touch  of  reluctance  towards  the  instrument, 
Aubrey  Leigh  walking  beside  her. 

"  You  are  a  musician  yourself? — "  she  said,  glancing  up 
at  him,  "  You  play — or  you  sing?  " 

"  I  do  a  little  of  both,"  he  answered,  "  But  I  shall  be 
no  rival  to  you !  I  have  heard  you  sing !  " 

"You  have?    When?" 

"  The  other  night,  or  else  I  dreamed  it,"  he  said  softly, 
"  I  have  a  very  sweet  echo  of  a  song1  in  my  mind  with 
words  that  sounded  like  '  Ti  volglio  bene ',  and  a  refrain 
that  I  caught  in  the  shape  of  a  rose ! " 

Their  eyes  met — and  what  Emerson  calls  "  the  deifica- 
tion and  transfiguration  of  life  "  began  to  stir  Sylvie's 
pulses,  and  set  her  heart  beating  to  a  new  and  singular 
exaltation.  The  warm  colour  flushed  her  cheeks — the 
lustre  brightened  in  her  eyes,  and  she  looked  sweeter 
and  more  bewitching  than  ever  as  she  loosened  the  rich 
sables  from  about  her  slim  throat,  and  drawing  off  her 
gloves  sat  down  to  the  piano.  Florian  Varillo  lounged 
near  her — she  saw  him  not  at  all, — Angela  came  up  to 
ask  if  she  could  play  an  accompaniment  for  her, — but 
she  shook  her  bright  head  in  a  smiling  negative,  and  her 
small  white  fingers  running  over  the  keys,  played  a  rip- 
pling passage  of  a  few  bars  while  she  raised  her  clear 
eyes  to  Aubrey  and  asked  him, — 

"  Do  you  know  an  old  Brittany  song  called  '  Le  Palais 
D'lifry'f  No?  It  is  just  one  of  those  many  songs  of 
the  unattainable, — the  search  for  the  '  Fortunate  Isles  ', 
or  the  '  Fata  Morgana  '  of  happiness." 

"  Is  happiness  nothing  but  a  '  Fata  Morgana  '  ?  "  asked 
Aubrey  gently,  "  Must  it  always  vanish  when  just  in 
sight?" 

His  eyes  grew  darkly  passionate  as  he  spoke,  and  again 
Sylvie's  heart  beat  high,  but  she  did  not  answer  in  words, 
— softening  the  notes  of  her  prelude  she  sang  in  a  rich 
mezzo-soprano,  whose  thrilling  tone  penetrated  to  every 
part  of  the  room,  the  quaint  old  Breton  ballad, 


The  Master-Christian.  327 

•'  II  serait  un  roi  ! 
Mais  quelqu'un  a  dit, 

4  Non  ! — Pas  pour  toi  ! 

4  Reste  en  prison, — ecoute  le  chant  d'amour, 
'  Et  le  doux  son  des  baisers  que  la  Reine  a  promit 
'  A  celui  qui  monte,  sans  peur  et  sans  retour 

Au  Palais  D'lffry  ! ' 
Htlas,  mon  ami, 
Cest  triste  d'ecouter  le  chanson  sans  le  chanter  aussi  !  " 

Aubrey  listened  to  the  sweet  far-reaching  notes — 
"  Sans  peur,  et  sans  retour,  an  Palais  D'lffry  "I  Thither 
would  he  climb — to  that  enchanted  palace  of  love  with  its 
rainbow  towers  glittering  in  the  "  light  that  never  was  on 
sea  or  land  " — to  the  throne  of  that  queen  whose  soft 
eyes  beckoned  him — whose  kiss  waited  for  him — every- 
thing now  must  be  for  her — all  the  world  for  her  sake, 
willingly  lost  or  willingly  won !  And  what  of  the  work 
he  had  undertaken  ?  The  people  to  whom  he  had  pledged 
his  life?  The  great  Christ-message  he  had  determined  to 
re-preach  for  the  comfort  of  the  million  lost  and  sor- 
rowful? His  brows  contracted, — and  a  sudden  shadow 
of  pain  clouded  the  frank  clearness  of  his  eyes.  Gher- 
ardi's  words  came  back  to  his  memory, — "  You  have  em- 
barked in  a  most  hopeless  cause !  You  will  help  the  help- 
less, and  as  soon  as  they  are  rescued  out  of  trouble  they 
will  turn  and  rend  you, — you  will  try  to  teach  them  the 
inner  mysteries  of  God's  working  and  they  will  say  you 
are  possessed  of  a  devil !  "  Then  he  thought  of  another 
and  grander  saying — "  Whoso,  putting,  his  hand  to  the 
plough,  looketh  back,  is  not  fit  for  the  Kingdom  of 
God ! —  '  and  over  all  rang  the  enchanting  call  of  the 
siren's  voice — 

"  Et  ledoux  son  des  baisers  que  la  Reine  a  promit 
A  celui  qui  monte,  sans  peur  et  sans  retour 
Au  Palais  D'lffry  !  " 

and  he  so  lost  himself  in  a  tangle  of  thought  that  he  did 
not  observe  how  closely  Mon  signer  Gherardi  was  study- 
ing every  expression  of  his  face,  and  he  started  as  if  he 
had  been  awakened  from  a  dream  when  Sylvie's  song 
ceased,  and  Sylvie  herself  glanced  up  at  him. 

"  Music  seems  to  make  you  sad,  Mr.  Leigh !  "  she  said 
timidly. 


328  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Not  music — but  sometimes  the  fancies  which  music 
engenders,  trouble  me,"  he  answered,  bending  his  earnest 
searching  eyes  upon  her,  and  wondering  within  himself 
whether  such  a  small,  slight  gossamer  thing  of  beauty, 
brilliant  as  a  tropical  humming-bird,  soft  and  caressable 
as  a  dove,  could  possibly  be  expected  to  have  the  sweet 
yet  austere  fortitude  and  firmness  needed  to  be  a  true 
"  helpmeet  "  to  him  in  the  work  he  had  undertaken,  and 
the  life  he  had  determined  to  lead.  He  noted  all  the 
dainty  trifles  of  her  toilette  half  doubtingly,  half  admir- 
ingly,— the  knot  of  rich  old  lace  that  fastened  her  sables, 
— the  solitary  star-like  diamond  which  held  that  lace  in 
careless  position — the  numerous  little  touches  of  taste 
and  elegance  which  made  her  so  unique  and  graceful 
among  women — and  a  pang  shot  through  his  heart  as  he 
thought  of  her  wealth,  and  his  own  poverty.  She  mean- 
while, on  her  part,  was  studying  him  with  all  the  close 
interest  that  a  cultured  and  refined  woman  feels,  who  is 
strongly  conscious  of  having  awakened  a  sudden  and 
masterful  passion  in  a  man  whom  she  secretly  admires. 
A  triumphant  sense  of  her  own  power  moved  her,  allied 
to  a  much  more  rare  and  beautiful  emotion — the  sense 
of  soul-submission  to  a  greater  and  higher  life  than  her 
own.  And  so  it  chanced  that  never  had  she  looked  so 
charming — never  had  her  fair  cheeks  flushed  a  prettier 
rose — never  had  her  easy  fascination  of  manner  been  so 
bewitchingly  troubled  by  hesitation  and  timidity — never 
Had  her  eyes  sparkled  with  a  softer  or  more  irresistible 
languor.  Aubrey  felt  that  he  was  fast  losing  his  head  as 
he  watched  her  move,  speak,  and  smile, — and  with  a  sud- 
den bracing  up  of  his  energies  resolved  to  make  his 
adieux  at  once. 

"  I  must  be  going, — "  he  began  to  say,  when  his  arm 
was  touched  from  behind,  and  he  turned  to  confront 
Florian  Varillo,  who  smiled  with  all  the  brilliancy  his 
white  and  even  teeth  could  give  him. 

"Why  must  you  be  going?"  asked.  Varillo  cheerily, 
"  Why  not  stay  and  dine  with  my  future  father-in-law, 
and  Angela,  and  the  eminent  Cardinal?  We  shall  all  be 
charmed !  " 

"Thanks,  no! — I  have  letters  to  write  to  Eng- 
land ..." 

"  Good-bye !  "  said  the  Comtesse  Hermenstein  at  this 


The  Master-Christian.  329 

juncture, — "  I  am  going  to  drive  the  Princesse  D'Agra- 
mont  round  the  Pincio,  will  you  join  us,  Mr.  Leigh? 
The  Princesse  is  anxious  to  know  you — may  I  introduce 
you?  " 

And  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  as  the  Princesse  was 
close  at  hand,  she  performed  the  ceremony  of  introduc- 
tion at  once  in  her  own  light  graceful  fashion. 

"  Truly  a  strange  meeting !  "  laughed  Varillo,  "  You 
three  ought  to  be  very  good  friends !  The  Comtesse 
Hermenstein  is  a  devout  daughter  of  the  Roman  Church 
—Madame  la  Princesse  is  against  all  Churches — and  you, 
Mr.  Leigh,  are  making  your  own  Church !  " 

Aubrey  did  not  reply.  It  was  not  the  time  or  place  to 
discuss  either  his  principles  or  his  work,  moreover  he  was 
strangely  troubled  by  hearing  Sylvie  described  as  "  a  de- 
vout daughter  of  the  Roman  Church." 

"  I  am  charmed ! "  said  the  Princesse  D'Agramont, 
"  Good  fortune  really  seems  to  favour  me  for  once,  for 
in  the  space  of  a  fortnight  I  have  met  two  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  the  time, '  Gys  Grandit ',  and  Aubrey 
Leigh !  " 

Aubrey  bowed. 

"  You  are  too  kind,  Madame !  Grandit  and  I  have 
been  friends  for  some  years,  though  we  have  never  seen 
each  other  since  I  parted  from  him  in  Touraine.  But  we 
have  always  corresponded." 

"  You  have  of  course  heard  who  he  really  is  ?  The  son 
of  Abbe  Vergniaud  ?  "  continued  the  Princesse. 

"  I  have  heard — but  only  this  morning,  and  I  do  not 
know  any  of  the  details  of  the  story." 

'  Then  you  must  certainly  come  and  drive  with  us," 
said  Loyse  D'Agramont,  "  for  I  can  tell  you  all  about  it. 
I  wrote  quite  a  brilliant  essay  on  it  for  the  Figaro,  and 
called  it  '  Church  Morality  ' !  "  She  laughed.  "  Come, — 
we  will  take  no  denial !  " 

Aubrey  tried  to  refuse,  but  could  not, — the  attraction, 
— the  '  will  o'  the  wisp  '  magnetism  of  Sylvie's  dainty 
personality  drew  him  on,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  after  tak- 
ing respectful  leave  of  the  Cardinal,  Prince  Sovrani,  and 
Angela,  he  left  the  studio  in  the  company  of  the  two 
ladies.  Passing  Monsignor  Gherardi  on  the  way  out  he 
received  a  wide  smile  and  affable  salute  from  that  per- 
sonage. 


33°  The  Master-Christian. 

"  A  pleasant  drive  to  you,  Mr.  Leigh,"  he  said,  "  The 
view  from  the  Pincio  is  considered  extremely  fine !  " 

Aubrey  made  some  formal  answer  and  went  his  way. 
Gherardi  returned  to  the  studio  and  resumed  his  confi- 
dential talk  with  Bonpre,  while  one  by  one  the  visitors 
departed,  till  at  last  the  only  persons  left  in  the  vast  room 
were  Angela  and  Florian  Varillo,  Prince  Pietro,  and  the 
two  dignitaries  of  the  Church.  Florian  was  irritated,  and 
made  no  secret  of  his  irritation  to  his  fair  betrothed,  with 
whom  he  sat  a  little  apart  from  the  others  in  the  room. 

"  Do  you  want  a  love  affair  between  Sylvie  Hermen- 
stein  and  that  fellow  Leigh?"  he  enquired,  "  If  so,  it  is 
probable  that  your  desire  will  be  gratified !  " 

Angela  raised  her  delicate  eyebrows  in  a  little  sur- 
prise. 

"  I  have  no  wish  at  all  in  the  matter,"  she  answered, 
"  except  to  see  Sylvie  quite  happy." 

"  How  very  romantic  is  the  friendship  between  you 
two  women !  "  said  Varillo  somewhat  sarcastically,  "  You 
wish  to  see  Sylvie  happy, — and  the  other  day  she  told  me 
she  would  form  her  judgment  of  me  by  your  happiness! 
Really,  it  is  most  admirable  and  touching !  " 

Angela  began  to  feel  somewhat  puzzled.  Petulance  and 
temper  were  not  in  her  character,  and  she  was  annoyed 
to  see  any  touch  of  them  in  her  lover. 

"Are  you  cross,  Florian?"  she  asked  gently,  "Has 
something  worried  you  to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  often  worried !  "  he  replied ; — and  had  he 
spoken  the  exact  truth  he  would  have  confessed  that  he 
was  always  seriously  put  out  when  he  was  not  the  centre 
of  attraction  and  the  cynosure  of  women's  eyes — "  But 
what  does  it  matter!  Do  not  think  at  all  about  me, 
caramia!  Tell  me  of  yourself.  How  goes  the  picture  ?" 

"  It  is  nearly  finished  now,"  she  replied,  her  beautiful 
violet  eyes  dilating  and  brightening  with  the  fervour  that 
inspired  her  whenever  she  thought  of  her  work,  "  I  rise 
very  early,  and  begin  to  paint  with  the  first  gleam  of 
daylight.  I  think  I  shall  have  it  ready  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected. The  Queen  has  promised  to  come  and  see  it  here 
before  it  is  exhibited  to  the  public." 

"  Margherita  di  Savoja  is  very  amiable !  "  said  Florian, 
with  a  tinge  of  envy  he  could  not  wholly  conceal,  "  She  is 
always  useful  as  a  patron." 


The  Master-Christian.  331 

A  quick  flush  of  pride  rose  to  Angela's  cheeks. 

"  I  do  not  need  any  patronage,  Florian,"  she  said  sim- 
ply yet  with  a  little  coldness,  "  You  know  that  I  should 
resent  it  were  it  offered  to  me.  If  my  work  is  not  good 
in  itself,  no  '  royal '  approval  can  make  it  so.  Queen 
Margherita  visits  me  as  a  friend — not  as  a  patron." 

'  There  now  !  I  have  vexed  you !  "  And  Florian  took 
her  hand  and  kissed  it.  "  Forgive  me,  sweetest ! — Look 
at  me — give  me  a  smile ! — Ah !  That  is  kind !  "  and  he 
conveyed  an  expression  of  warm  tenderness  into  his  eyes 
as  Angela  turned  her  charming  face  upon  him,  softened 
and  radiant  with  the  quick  affection  which  always  moved 
her  at  his  voice  and  caress.  "  I  spoke  foolishly !  Of 
course  my  Angela  could  not  be  patronised — she  is  too 
independent  and  gifted.  I  am  very  glad  the  Queen  is 
coming !  " 

'The  Queen  is  coming?"  echoed  Gherardi,  who  just 
then  advanced.  "  Here  ?  To  see  Donna  Sovrani's  pic- 
ture ?  Ah,  that  will  be  an  excellent  advertisement !  But 
it  would  have  been  far  better,  my  dear  young  lady,  had 
you  arranged  with  me,  or  with  some  other  one  of  my 
confreres,  to  have  the  picture  sent  to  the  Vatican  for 
the  inspection  of  His  Holiness.  The  Popes,  as  you  know, 
have  from  time  immemorial  been  the  best  patrons  of 
art !  " 

"  My  picture  would  not  please  the  Pope,"  said  Angela 
quietly,  "  It  would  more  probably  win  his  denunciation 
than  his  patronage." 

Gherardi  smiled.  The  idea  of  a  woman — a  mere 
woman  imagining  that  anything  which  she  could  do  was 
powerful  enough  to  bring  down  Papal  denunciation !  The 
strange  conceit  of  these  feminine  geniuses !  He  could 
almost  have  laughed  aloud.  But  he  merely  looked  her 
over  blandly  and  forbearingly. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  very  sorry  you  should  consider 
such  a  thing  as  possible  of  your  work.  But  no  doubt 
you  speak  on  impulse.  Your  distinguished  uncle,  the 
Cardinal  Bonpre,  would  be  sadly  distressed  if  your  pic- 
ture should  contain  anything  of  a  nature  to  bring  you 
any  condemnation  from  the  Vatican, — and  your 
father  ..." 

"  Leave  me  out  of  it,  if  you  please !  "  interrupted  Prince 
Pietro,  "  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it !  Angela 


332  The  Master-Christian. 

works  with  a  free  hand;  none  of  us  have  seen  what  she 
is  doing." 

"  Not  even  you,  Signor  Varillo  ?  "  enquired  Gherardi 
affably. 

"  Oh,  I  ?  "  laughed  Florian  carelessly,  "  No  indeed !  I 
have  not  the  least  idea  of  the  subject  or  the  treatment!  " 

"  A  mystery  then  ?  "  said  Gherardi,  still  preserving  his 
bland  suavity  of  demeanour,  "  But  permit  me,  Donna 
Sovrani,  to  express  the  hope  that  when  the  veil  is  lifted 
a  crown  of  laurels  may  be  disclosed  for  you !  " 

Angela  thanked  him  by  a  silent  inclination  of  her  head, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  stately  Vatican  spy  had  taken 
his  leave.  As  he  disappeared  the  Cardinal  rose  from  his 
chair  and  moving  somewhat  feebly,  prepared  to  return 
to  his  own  apartments. 

"  Dearest  uncle,  will  you  not  stay  with  us  to-night  ? 
Or  are  you  too  tired  ?  "  asked  Angela  as  she  came  to  his 
side. 

He  raised  her  sweet  face  between  his  two  wrinkled 
hands  and  looked  at  her  long  and  earnestly. 

"  Dear  child !  "  he  said,  "  Dear  brave  little  child !  For 
you  must  always  be  nothing  more  than  a  child  to  me, — 
tell  me,  are  you  sure  you  are  moved  by  the  right  spirit 
in  the  painting  of  your  picture  ?  " 

"  I  think  so !  "  answered  Angela  gently,  "  Indeed,  in- 
deed, I  think  so !  I  know  that  according  to  the  teaching 
of  our  Master  Christ,  it  is  a  true  spirit !  " 

Slowly  the  Cardinal  released  her,  and  slowly  and  with 
impressive  earnestness  traced  the  Cross  on  her  fair  brows. 

"  God  bless  you !  "  he  said,  "  And  God  help  you  too ! 
For  if  you  work  by  '  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  the  Comforter  ', 
remember  it  is  the  same  Spirit  which  our  Lord  tells  us 
'  the  world  cannot  receive  because  it  seeth  Him  not, 
neither  knoweth  Him.'  And  to  testify  of  a  Spirit  which 
the  world  cannot  receive  makes  the  world  very  hard  to 
you !  " 

And  with  these  words  he  gently  leaned  on  the  arm  she 
proffered  and  left  the  studio  with  her,  the  rich  glow 
and  voluminous  folds  of  his  scarlet  robes  contrasting 
vividly  with  the  simple  black  gown  which  Angela  wore 
without  other  adornment  than  a  Niphetos  rose  to  relieve 
its  sombreness.  As  she  went  with  her  uncle  she  looked 
over  her  shoulder  and  smiled  an  adieu  to  Florian. — he.  in 


The  Master-Christian.  333 

his  turn  lightly  kissed  his  hand  to  her,  and  then  addressed 
Prince  Pietro,  who,  with  the  care  of  a  man  to  whom  ex- 
pense is  a  consideration,  was  putting  out  some  of  the  tall 
lamps  that  had  illumined  the  dusk  of  the  late  afternoon. 

'  The  good  Cardinal  is  surely  breaking  up,"  he  said 
carelessly,  "  He  looks  extremely  frail !  " 

"  Young  men  sometimes  break  up  before  old  ones !  " 
returned  the  Prince  drily,  "  Felix  is  strong  enough  yet. 
You  dine  with  us  to-night  ?  " 

"  If  you  permit — "  said  Varillo,  with  a  graceful  salu- 
tation. 

"  Oh,  my  permission  does  not  matter !  "  said  Sovrani 
eyeing  him  narrowly,  "  Whatever  gives  pleasure  to  An- 
gela must  needs  please  me.  She  is  all  that  is  left  to  me 
now  in  an  exceedingly  dull  world.  A  riverderci!  At 
eight  we  dine." 

Florian  nodded, — and  took  his  departure,  and  the 
Prince  for  a  moment  stood  hesitating,  looking  at  the 
great  white  covering  on  the  wall  which  concealed  his 
daughter's  mysterious  work.  His  tall  upright  figure  stiff 
and  sombre,  looked  as  if  cast  in  bronze  in  the  half  light 
shed  by  the  wood  fire, — one  lamp  was  still  burning,  and 
after  a  pause  he  moved  from  his  rigid  attitude  of  gloomy 
consideration,  and  extinguished  it,  then  glancing  round 
to  see  that  all  was  in  order,  he  left  the  studio,  closing  its 
great  oaken  door  behind  him.  Five  minutes  after  he  had 
gone  a  soft  step  trod  the  polished  floor,  and  the  young 
Manuel,  holding  a  lighted  taper,  entered  all  alone.  The 
flame  of  the  little  torch  he  carried  cast  a  soft  golden  glow 
about  him  as  he  walked  noiselessly  through  the  great 
empty  room,  his  blue  eyes  lifted  to  the  marble  heads  of 
gods  and  heroes  which  occupied  their  different  positions 
on  the  gilded  and  oaken  brackets  set  against  the  tapes- 
tried walls, — and  presently  he  paused  in  front  of  Angela's 
hidden  work.  It  was  but  a  moment's  pause ;  and  then, 
still  with  the  same  light  step,  and  the  same  bright  glow 
reflected  from  the  flame  that  glittered  in  his  hand,  he 
passed  through  the  room,  lifted  the  velvet  portiere  at  the 
other  end  where  there  was  another  door  leading  to  the 
corridor  connected  with  the  Cardinal's  apartments,  and 
so  unnoticed,  disappeared. 


XXIII. 

MEANWHILE,  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  had  been  nearly 
a  fortnight  in  Rome,  living  a  sufficiently  curious  sort  of 
life,  and  passing  his  time  in  a  constant  endeavour  to  avoid 
being  discovered  and  recognised  by  any  of  his  numerous 
acquaintances  who  were  arriving  there  for  the  winter. 
His  chief  occupation  was  of  course  to  watch  the  Comtesse 
Sylvie, — and  he  was  rewarded  for  his  untiring  pains  by 
constant  and  bewitching  glimpses  of  her.  Sometimes  he 
would  see  her  driving,  wrapped  in  furs,  her  tiny  Japanese 
dog  curled  up  in  a  fold  of  her  sables,  and  on  her  lap  a 
knot  of  violets,  the  fresh  scent  of  which  came  to  him  like 
a  sweet  breath  on  the  air  as  she  passed.  Once  he  almost 
met  her,  face  to  face  in  the  gardens  of  the  Villa  Borghese, 
walking  all  alone,  and  reading  a  book  in  which  she  seemed 
to  be  deeply  interested.  He  made  a  few  cautious  en- 
quiries about  her,  and  learnt  that  she  lived  very  quietly, — 
that  she  received  certain  "  great  "  people, — especially  Car- 
dinals and  Monsignori,  notably  Monsignor  Gherardi,  who 
was  a  constant  visitor.  But  of  any  closer  admirer  he 
never  gathered  the  slightest  rumour,  till  one  afternoon, 
just  when  the  sun  was  sinking  in  full  crimson  glory  be- 
hind the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  he  saw  her  carriage  come  to 
a  sudden  halt  on  the  Pincio  and  she  herself  leaned  out  of 
it  to  shake  hands  with,  and  talk  to  a  tall  fair  man,  who 
seemed  to  be  on  exceptionally  friendly  terms  with  her. 
It  is  true  she  was  accompanied  in  the  carriage  by  the  fa- 
mous Sovrani, — but  that  fact  did  not  quell  the  sudden 
flame  of  jealousy  which  sprang  up  in  Fontenelle's  mind 
— for  both  ladies  appeared  equally  charmed  with  the  fair 
i.ian,  and  their  countenances  were  radiant  with  pleasure 
and  animation  all  the  time  they  were  in  conversation 
with  him.  When  the  carriage  resumed  its  round  again, 
the  Marquis  sauntered  by  a  side  path  where  he  could 
take  quiet  observation  of  his  apparent  rival,  who  walked 


334 


The  Master-Christian.  335 

past  him  with  a  firm  light  step,  looking  handsome,  happy, 
and  amazingly  confident.  There  was  an  old  man  raking 
the  path,  and  of  him  Fontenelle  asked  carelessly, 

"  Do  you  know  who  that  gentleman  is  ?  " 

The  gardener  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"Ah,  si,  si!  II  Signor  Inglese!  Molto  generosol  II 
Signor  Aubri  Lee!" 

Aubrey  Leigh !  A  "  celebrity  "  then, — an  English 
author ; — not  that  all  English  authors  are  considered  "  ce- 
lebrities "  in  Rome.  Italian  society  makes  very  short  work 
of  spurious  art,  and  closes  its  doors  ruthlessly  against 
mere  English  "  Grub  Street  ".  But  Aubrey  Leigh  was 
more  than  an  author, — he  was  an  influential  power  in  the 
world,  as  the  Marquis  well  knew. 

"  A  great  religious  reformer !  And  yet  a  victim  to 
the  little  Sylvie !  "  he  mused,  "  Well !  The  two  things 
will  not  work  together.  Though  truly  Sylvie  would  cap- 
tivate a  John  Knox  or  a  Cromwell.  I  really  think, — I 
really  do  begin  to  think,  that  rather  than  lose  her  alto- 
gether, I  must  marry  her !  "  , 

And  he  went  back  to  the  obscure  hotel  where  he  had 
chosen  temporarily  to  reside  in  a  meditative  mood,  and 
as  he  entered,  was  singularly  annoyed  to  see  a  flaring 
pester  outside,  announcing  the  arrival  of  Miraudin  and 
his  whole  French  Company  in  Rome  for  a  few  nights 
only.  The  name  "  MIRAUDIN  "  glared  at  him  in  big, 
fat,  red  letters  on  a  bright  yellow  ground ;  and  involun- 
tarily he  muttered, 

"  D n  the  fellow !  Can  I  go  nowhere  in  the  world 

without  coming  across  him !  " 

Irritated,  and  yet  knowing  his  irritation  to  be  foolish, — 
for  after  all,  what  was  the  famous  actor  to  him? — what 
was  there  in  his  personality  to  annoy  him  beyond  the 
trivial  fact  of  a  curious  personal  resemblance  ? — he  retired 
to  his  room  in  no  pleasant  humour,  and  sitting  down  be- 
gan to  write  a  letter  to  Sylvie  asking  her  to  be  his  wife. 
Yet  somehow  the  power  of  expression  seemed  lacking, 
and  once  or  twice  he  laid  down  his  pen  in  a  fit  of  ab- 
straction, wondering  why,  when  he  had  sought  Sylvie  as 
a  lover  only,  he  had  been  able  to  write  the  most  passion- 
ate love  phrases,  full  of  ardour  and  poetry,  and  now,  when 
he  was  about  to  make  her  the  offer  of  his  whole  life,  his 
sentences  were  commonplace  and  almost  cold.  And  pres- 


336 


The  Master-Christian. 


ently  he  tore  up  what  he  had  been  writing,  and  paced  the 
room  impatiently. 

"  The  fact  is  I  shall  make  a  bad  husband,  and  I  know 
it !  "  he  said  candidly  to  himself,  "  And  Sylvie  will  make 
a  great  mistake  if  she  accepts  me !  " 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  His  hotel 
was  not  in  a  fashionable  or  frequented  quarter  of  Rome, 
and  the  opposite  view  of  the  street  was  anything  but  en- 
livening. Dirty,  frowsy  women, — idle  men,  lounging 
along  with  the  slouching  gait  which  is  common  to  the 
'  unemployed  '  Italian, — half-naked  children,  running 
hither  and  thither  in  the  mud,  and  screaming  like  tortured 
wild  animals, — this  kind  of  shiftless,  thriftless  humanity, 
pictured  against  the  background  of  ugly  modern  houses, 
such  as  one  might  find  in  a  London  back  slum,  made  up  a 
cheerless  prospect,  particularly  as  the  blue  sky  was 
clouded  and  it  was  beginning  to  rain.  One  touch  of  col- 
our brightened  the  scene  for  a  moment,  when  a  girl  with 
a  yellow  handkerchief  tied  round  her  head  passed  along, 
carrying  a  huge  flat  basket  overflowing  with  bunches  of 
purple  violets,  and  as  Fontenelle  caught  the  hue,  and  im- 
agined the  fragrance  of  the  flowers,  he  was  surprised  to 
feel  his  eyes  smart  with  a  sudden  sting  of  tears.  The  pic- 
ture of  Sylvie  Hermenstein,  with  her  child-like  head, 
fair  hair,  and  deep  blue  eyes,  floated  before  him, — she 
was  fond  of  violets,  and  whenever  she  wore  them,  their 
odour  seemed  to  be  the  natural  exhalation  of  her  sweet 
and  spirituclle  personality. 

"  She  is  much  too  good  for  me !  "  he  said  half  aloud, 
"  To  be  perfectly  honest  with  myself,  I  know  I  have  no 
stability  of  character,  and  I  cannot  imagine  myself  re- 
maining constant  to  any  woman  for  more  than  six 
months.  And  the  best  way  is  to  be  perfectly  straight- 
forward about  it." 

He  sat  down  again,  and  without  taking  any  more 
thought  wrote  straight  from  the  heart  of  his  present 
humour,  addressing  her  by  the  name  he  had  once  play- 
fully bestowed  upon  her. 

"  Enchanteresse !  I  am  here  in  Rome,  and  this  brief 
letter  is  to  ask,  without  preamble  or  apology,  whether  you 
will  do  me  the  infinite  honour  to  become  my  wife.  I  con- 
fess to  you  honestly  that  I  am  not  worth  this  considera- 


The  Master-Christian.  337 

tion  on  your  part,  for  I  am  not  to  be  relied  upon.  I  re- 
pose no  confidence  in  myself,  therefore  I  will  leave  it  to 
you  to  measure  my  audacity  in  making  the  suggestion 
that  you  should  place  a  lifetime's  confidence  in  me.  But 
with  all  my  heart,  (as  much  as  I  know  of  it  at  the  pres- 
ent), I  desire  to  show  you  what  respect  so  poor  a  life  as 
mine  can  give  to  one  who  deserves  all  tenderness,  as  well 
as  trust.  If  I  may  hope  that  you  will  pardon  my  past 
follies  and  libertinage  with  regard  to  you, — if  you  can 
love  me  well  enough  to  wear  my  not  too  exalted  name,  and 
preserve  my  remaining  stock  of  honour,  summon  me  to 
your  presence,  and  I  will  endeavour,  by  such  devotion 
and  fidelity  as  in  me  lies,  to  atone  for  whatsoever  offence 
I  may  have  given  you  previously  by  my  too  passionate 
pursuit  of  your  beauty.  Yours,  unless  you  decide  my 
fate  otherwise, 

"  GUY  BEAUSIRE  DE  FONTENELLE.  " 


Thrusting  this  note  into  an  envelope  he  hastily  sealed 
it,  but  decided  not  to  post  it  till  late  at  night,  in 
order  that  Sylvie  might  only  receive  it  with  the  early 
morning,  when  her  mind  was  fresh,  and  unswayed  by  any 
opinions  or  events  of  a  long  day.  And  to  pass  the  time 
he  strolled  out  to  one  of  the  many  "  osterie,",or  wine- 
houses  which  abound  in  Rome, — a  somewhat  famous  ex- 
ample of  its  kind  in  the  Via  Quattro  Fontane.  Choosing 
a  table  where  he  could  sit  with  his  back  turned  towards 
the  door,  so  as  to  avoid  being  seen  by  either  strangers 
or  possible  friends,  he  took  up  the  Giornale  Romano, 
and  ordered  a  "  mezzo-litro  "  of  the  "  Genzano  "  wine, 
for  which  that  particular  house  has  long  been  celebrated. 
He  sat  there  about  half  an  hour  thus  quietly  reading, — 
scarcely  hearing  the  loud  voices  and  louder  laughter  of 
the  men  who  came  and  went  around  him,  when  suddenly 
the  name  "  Sylvie  Hermenstein  "  caught  his  ear.  It  was 
spoken  carelessly  and  accompanied  with  a  laugh.  Quietly 
laying  down  his  newspaper,  he  sat  very  still  in  his  chair, 
keeping  his  back  turned  to  the  groups  of  wine  drinkers 
who  were  gathering  in  large  numbers  as  the  evening  ad- 
vanced, and  listened. 

'  The  most  delicious  little  bonbon  in  the  whole  box ! 
Jolie  a  craquer!  "  said  a  man's  voice. 


338 


The  Master-Christian. 


"  Chocolat  fondant!  Garantic  tres  pure!"  cried  an- 
other, his  words  being  followed  by  a  shout  of  laughter. 

Fontenelle  gripped  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  held  him- 
self rigid,  but  ready  to  spring. 

"  The  Church  always  knows  where  to  find  the  prettiest 
women,"  said  the  first  man  who  had  spoken,  "  from 
the  Santissima  Madonna  downwards!  What  would  be- 
come of  the  Pope  if  it  were  not  for  the  women !  " 

"  Bah !  The  Pope  is  only  one  man,  but  what  would  be- 
come of  all  the  Monsignorif  "  asked  a  voice  different  to 
the  rest  in  mellowness  and  deep  quality,  but  with  a  touch 
of  insolent  mockery  in  its  tone. 

Another  burst  of  laughter  answered  him. 

Fontenelle  turned  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  the  last 
speaker,  and  to  his  amazement  saw  the  actor,  Miraudin. 
He  was  leaning  carelessly  against  the  wine  counter,  a 
half-emptied  "  fiaschetto  "  in  front  of  him,  and  a  full  glass 
of  wine  in  his  hand. 

"  The  Monsignori  would  be  all  desolate  bachelors !  " 
he  went  on,  lazily,  "  And  the  greatest  rascal  in  the  Vati- 
can, Domenico  Gherardi,  would  no  longer  be  the  for- 
tunate possessor  of  the  wealth,  the  influence,  and  the  dear 
embraces  of  the  fascinating  Hermenstein !  " 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  when  the  glass  he  held  was 
dashed  out  of  his  hand,  and  Fontenelle,  white  with  fury, 
struck  him  smartly  and  full  across  the  face.  A  scene  of 
the  wildest  confusion  and  uproar  ensued.  All  the  men 
in  the  wine-shop  crowded  around  them,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment Miraudin,  blinded  by  the  blow,  and  the  wine  that 
had  splashed  up  against  his  eyes,  did  not  see  who 
had  struck  him,  but  as  he  recovered  from  the  sudden 
shock  and  stared  at  his  opponent,  he  broke  into  a  wild 
laugh. 

"  Diantre!  Bon  soir,  Monsieur  le  Marquis!  Upon 
my  life,  there  is  something  very  strange  in  this !  Fate  or 
the  devil,  or  both  !  Well !  What  now !  " 

"  You  are  a  liar  and  a  blackguard !  "  said  Fontenelle 
fiercely,  "  And  unless  you  apologise  for  your  insult  to  the 
lady  whose  name  you  have  presumed  to  utter  with  your 
mountebank  tongue 

"Apologise!  I!  Moil — genie  de  France!  Never!" 
retorted  Miraudin  with  an  air  of  swaggering  audacity, 
"  All  women  are  alike !  I  speak  from  experience  !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  339 

White  to  the  lips,  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  looked 
around. 

"  Are  there  any  men  here?  "  he  asked,  eying  the  crowd 
about  him  with  ineffable  hauteur. 

A  young  fellow  stepped  forward.  "  At  your  command, 
Marquis !  You  served  me  once — I  shall  be  happy  to 
serve  you  now !  " 

Quickly  Fontenelle  shook  hands  with  this  timely  friend. 
He  recognised  in  him  a  young  Italian  officer,  named  Rus- 
pardi,  an  acquaintance  of  some  years  back,  to  whom  he 
had  chanced  to  be  useful  in  a  pressing  moment  of 
need. 

"  Thanks !  Arrange  everything  for  me,  will  you,  Rus- 
pardi  ?  And  as  quickly  as  possible !  " 

"  It  is  nearly  midnight  now,"  said  Ruspardi  in  a  low 
tone,  "  Shall  we  say  five  or  six  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes — anything  you  like — but  quickly !  " 

Then  raising  his  head  haughtily,  he  addressed  Miraudin 
in  distinct  tones. 

"  Monsieur  Miraudin,  you  have  greatly  insulted  and 
falsely  slandered  a  lady  whom  I  have  the  honour  to 
know.  I  have  struck  you  for  vour  lie ;  and  consider  you 
worthy  of  no  further  treatment  save  a  horsewhipping  in 
public.  Gentlemen  do  not  as  a  rule  condescend  to  meet 
their  paid  servants — actors  and  the  like, — in  single  com- 
bat— but  I  will  do  you  that  honour !  " 

And  with  these  words  he  bowed  haughtily  to  all  pres- 
ent, and  left  the  scene  of  noisy  disorder. 

Out  in  the  streets  the  moonlight  lay  in  broad  silver 
bands,  like  white  glistening  ribbon  spread  in  shining 
strips  across  the  blackness,  and  there  was  a  moisture  in 
the  air  which, — dropped  as  it  were  fresh,  from  the  sur- 
rounding hills, — cooled  Fontenelle's  flushed  face  and 
burning  brows.  He  walked  rapidly, — he  had  a  vague, 
unformed  desire  in  his  mind  to  see  Sylvie  again  if  pos- 
sible. He  knew  \vhere  she  lived,  and  he  soon  turned 
down  the  street  where  the  quaint  old  central  balcony 
of  the  Casa  D'Angeli  thrust  itself  forwand  into  the 
moon-rays  among  the  sculptured  angels'  wings, — and 
he  saw  that  the  windows  were  open.  Pausing  un- 
derneath he  waited,  hesitating — full  of  strange  thoughts 
and  stranger  regrets.  How  poor  and  valueless  seemed 
his  life  as  he  regarded  it  now ! — now  when  he  had 


340  The  Master-Christian. 

voluntarily  placed  it  in  jeopardy!  What  had  he 
done  with  his  days  of  youth  and  prime?  Frittered 
away  every  valuable  moment, — thrown  to  the  winds  every 
costly  opportunity, — spent  his  substance  on  light  women 
who  had  kissed  and  clung  to  him  one  day,  and  repulsed 
him  the  next.  Well — and  after  ?  His  heart  beat  thickly, 
— if  he  could  only  see  Sylvie  for  a  moment !  Hush ! 
There  was  a  murmur — a  voice — a  ripple  of  sweet  laugh- 
ter; and  moving  cautiously  back  into  the  shadows,  he 
looked  up — yes  ! — there  she  was — clad  in  some  soft  sil- 
very stuff  that  gathered  a  thousand  sparkles  from  the 
light  of  the  moon, — her  fair  hair  caught  up  in  a  narrow 
jirclet  of  diamonds,  and  her  sweet  face  purely  outlined 
against  the  dark  worn  stone  of  one  of  the  great  carved 
angel-wings.  But  someone  was  with  her, — someone 
whom  Fontenelle  recognised  at  once  by  the  classic  shape 
of  his  head  and  bright  curly  hair, — the  man  whom  he  had 
seen  that  very  day  on  the  Pincio, — Aubrey  Leigh.  With  a 
jealous  tightening  at  his  heart,  Fontenelle  saw  that  Leigh 
held  the  soft  plume  of  downy  feathers  which  served  Syl- 
vie for  a  fan,  and  that  he  was  lightly  waving  it  to  and  fro 
as  he  talked  to  her  in  the  musical,  all-potent  voice  which 
had  charmed  thousands,  and  would  surely  not  be  with- 
out its  fascination  for  the  sensitive  ears  of  a  woman. 
Moving  a  little  closer  he  tried  to  hear  what  was  being 
said, — but  Leigh  spoke  very  softly,  and  Sylvie  answered 
with  equal  softness,  so  that  he  could  catch  no  distinct 
word.  Yet  the  mere  tone  of  these  two  voices  melted 
into  a  harmony  more  dulcet  and  perfect  than  could  be  en- 
dured by  Fontenelle  with  composure,  and  uttering  an  im- 
patient exclamation  at  his  own  folly  he  hastily  left  his 
retreat,  and  with  one  parting  glance  up  at  the  picture  of 
fair  loveliness  above  him  walked  swiftly  away.  Return- 
ing to  his  hotel  he  saw  the  letter  that  he  had  written  to 
Sylvie  lying  on  the  table,  and  he  at  once  posted  it.  Then 
he  began  to  prepare  for  his  encounter  with  Miraudin.  He 
dressed  quickly, — wrote  a  few  business  letters, — and  was 
about  to  lie  down  for  a  rest  of  an  hour  or  so  when  the 
swift  and  furious  galloping  of  a  horse's  hoofs  awoke  the 
echoes  of  the  quiet  street,  and  almost  before  he  had  time 
to  realise  what  had  happened,  his  friend  Ruspardi  stood 
before  him,  breathless  and  wild  with  excitement. 

"  Marquis,  you  are  tricked !  "  he  cried,  "  Everything  is 


The  Master-Christian.  341 

prepared — seconds, — pistols, — all !  But  your  man — your 
man  has  gone !  " 

"Gone!"  exclaimed  Fontenelle  furiously,  "Where?" 

"  Out  of  Rome !  In  a  common  fiacre — taking  his  lat- 
est mistress,  one  of  the  stage-women  with  him.  They 
were  seen  driving  by  the  Porta  Pia  towards  the  Cam- 
pagna  half  an  hour  ago!  He  dare  not  face  fire — bully 
and  coward  that  he  is !  " 

"  I  will  go  after  him !  "  said  Fontenelle  promptly,  "  Half 
an  hour  ahead,  you  say!  Good! — I  will  catch  him  up. 
Can  I  get  a  horse  anywhere  ?  " 

"  Take  mine,"  said  Ruspardi  eagerly,  "  he  is  perfectly 
fresh — just  out  of  the  stable.  Have  you  weapons?" 

"  Yes,"  and  the  Marquis  unlocked  a  case,  and  loading 
two,  placed  them  in  a  travelling  holder.  Then,  turning 
to  Ruspardi  he  shook  hands. 

"  Thanks,  a  thousand  times !  There  are  a  few  letters 
here — see  to  them  if  I  should  not  come  back." 

"  \\hat  are  you  going  to  do?  "  asked  Ruspardi,  his  ex- 
citement beginning  to  cool  a  little,  now  that  he  saw  the 
possible  danger  into  which  Fontenelle  was  voluntarily 
rushing. 

"  Persuade  the  worthy  mountebank  either  to  come  back 
or  fight  at  once  on  whatever  ground  I  find  him,  and  as- 
sume to  be  a  gentleman — for  once !  "  said  Fontenelle, 
carelessly.  "  Addio!  " 

And  without  further  words  he  hurried  off,  and  tossing 
a  twenty- franc  piece  to  the  sleepy  hotel  porter  who  was 
holding  Ruspardi's  horse  outside,  he  flung  himself  into 
the  saddle  and  galloped  away.  Ruspardi,  young  and  hot- 
blooded,  was  of  too  mercurial  a  disposition  to  anticipate 
any  really  serious  results  of  the  night's  adventure; — his 
contempt  for  a  cowyard  was  far  greater  than  his  fear  of 
death,  and  he  was  delighted  to  think  that  in  all  proba- 
bility the  Marquis  would  use  his  riding-whip  on  Mirau- 
din's  back  rather  than  honour  him  by  a  pistol  shot.  And 
so  dismissing  all  fears  from  his  mind  he  took  Fonte- 
nelle's  letters  in  his  charge,  and  went  straight  out  of 
the  hotel  singing  gaily,  charmed  with  the  exciting  thought 
of  the  midnight  chase  which  was  going  on,  and  the  possi- 
ble drubbing  and  discomfiture  of  the  "celebrated"  Mir- 
audin. 

Meanwhile,  under  the  flashing  stars,  and  through  the 


342  The  Master-Christian. 

sleeping  streets  of  Rome,  the  Marquis  galloped  with  al- 
most breakneck  haste.  He  was  a  daring  rider,  and  the 
spirited  animal  he  bestrode  soon  discovered  the  force  of 
his  governing  touch, — the  resolve  of  his  urging  speed. 
He  went  by  the  Porta  Pia,  remembering  Ruspardi's  hur- 
ried description  of  the  route  taken  by  the  runaway  actor, 
and  felt,  rather  than  saw  the  outline  of  the  Villa  Torlonia, 
as  he  rushed  past,  and  the  Basilica  of  St.  Agnese  Fuori  le 
Mura,  which  is  supposed  to  cover  the  tomb  of  the  child- 
martyr  St.  Agnes, — then  across  the  Ponte  Nomentano, 
till,  two  miles  further  on,  in  the  white  radiance  of  the 
moon,  he  perceived,  driving  rapidly  ahead  of  him,  the 
vehicle  of  which  he  was  in  pursuit.  Letting  the  reins 
fall  loosely  on  the  neck  of  his  straining  steed,  he  raised 
himself  in  his  stirrups,  and  by  his  own  movements  as- 
sisted the  animal's  now  perfectly  reckless  gallop, — and  at 
last,  hearing  the  flying  hoofs  behind,  the  driver  of  the 
fiacre  became  seized  with  panic,  and  thinking  of  possible 
brigands  and  how  to  pacify  them,  he  suddenly  pulled  up 
and  came  to  a  dead  halt.  A  head  was  thrust  out  of  the 
carriage  window, — Miraudin's  head, — and  Miraudin's 
voice  shouted  in  bad  Italian, 

"  What  are  you  stopping  for,  rascal !  On  with  you ! 
On  with  you !  Five  hundred  francs  for  your  best 
speed !  " 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words  when  the  Marquis 
gained  the  side  of  the  vehicle,  and  pulling  up  his  horse 
till  it  almost  fell  in  rearing  backwards,  he  cried  furiously, 

"  Lache!  Tu  vas  te  crcver  sur  terre  avant  je  te 
quitte!" 

And  he  struck  his  riding-whip  full  in  the  actor's  face. 

Springing  out  of  the  fiacre  Miraudin  confronted  his  an- 
tagonist. His  hat  was  off — and  his  countenance,  marked 
as  it  was  with  the  crimson  line  of  the  lash,  lightened  with 
laughter. 

"  Again !  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  je  vous  salue !  "  he 
said,  "Kismet!  One  cannot  escape  it!  Better  to  fight 
with  you,  beau  sire,  than  with  destiny !  I  am  ready !  " 

Fontenelle  at  once  dismounted,  and  tied  his  horse  to 
the  knotted  bough  of  a  half-withered  tree.  Taking  his 
pistols  out  of  their  holder  he  proffered  them  to  Miraudin. 

"  Choose.!  "  he  said  curtly,  "  Or  use  your  own  if  you 
have  any, — but  mine  are  loaded, — take  care  yours  are! 


The  Master-Christian.  343 

Play  no  theatrical  tricks  on  such  a  stage  as  this !  "  And 
then  he  gave  a  comprehensive  wave  of  his  hand  towards 
the  desolate  waste  of  the  Campagna  around  them,  and 
the  faint  blue  misty  lines  of  the  Alban  hills  just  rimmed 
with  silver  in  the  rays  of  the  moon. 

At  the  first  sight  of  the  pistols  the  driver  of  the  fiacre, 
who  had  been  more  or  less  stupefied  till  now,  by  the  sud- 
denness of  the  adventure,  gave  a  sort  of  whining  cry,  and 
climbing  down  from  his  box  fell  on  his  knees  before 
Miraudin,  and  then  ran  a  few  paces  and  did  the  same 
thing  in  front  of  the  Marquis,  imploring  both  men  not 
to  fight, — not  to  get  killed,  on  account  of  the  trouble  it 
would  cause  to  him,  the  coachman ; — and  with  a  high  fal- 
setto shriek  a  lady  flung  herself  out  of  the  recesses  of  the 
closed  vehicle,  and  clung  to  the  actor's  arm. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  MonDieu!  What  is  it  you  would  do  ?" 
she  cried,  "  Be  killed  out  here  on  the  Campagna  ?  and  not 
a  soul  in  sight — not  a  house — not  a  shelter?  And  what 
is  to  become  of  me ! — Me ! — Me ! — "  and  she  tapped  her 
heaving  bosom  in  melodramatic  style,  "  Have  you  thought 
of  me?  " 

"  You — you !  "  laughed  Miraudin,  tearing  off  the  lace 
veil  which  she  wore  wrapped  loosely  round  her  head  and 
shoulders,  "  You,  Jeanne  Richaud !  What  is  to  become 
of  you?  The  same  fate  will  attend  you  that  attends  all 
such  little  moths  of  the  footlights !  Perhaps  a  dozen 
more  lovers  after  me — then  old  age,  and  the  care  of  a 
third-class  lodging-house  for  broken-down  actors ! " 
Here  he  chose  his  weapon.  "  At  your  service,  Marquis !  " 

Jeanne  Richaud,  a  soubrette,  whose  chief  stock-in-trade 
had  been  her  large  dark  eyes  and  shapely  legs,  uttered  a 
desperate  scream,  and  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  the 
Marquis  Fontenelle. 

"Monsieur!  Monsieur!  Think  for  a  moment !  This 
combat  is  unequal — out  of  rule!  You  are  a  gentleman, 
— a  man  of  honour ! — would  you  fight  without  seconds  ? 
It  is  murder — murder !  " 

Here  she  broke  off,  terrified  in  spite  of  herself  by  the 
immovability  of  Fontenelle's  attitude,  and  the  coldness  of 
his  eyes. 

"  I  regret  to  pain  you,  Madame,"  he  said  stiffly,  "  This 
combat  was  arranged  according  to  rule  between  Mon- 
sieur Miraudin  and  myself  some  hours  since — and  though 


344  The  Master-Christian. 

it  seems  he  did  not  intend  to  keep  his  engagement  I  in- 
tend to  keep  mine !  The  principals  in  the  fight  are  here, 
— seconds  are,  as  their  name  implies,  a  secondary  mat- 
ter. We  must  do  without  them." 

"  By  no  means !  "  exclaimed  Miraudin,  "  We  have 
them !  Here  they  are !  You,  Jeanne,  will  you  be  my 
second — how  often  you  have  seconded  me  in  many  a 
devil's  game — and  you — cochon  d'un  cocker! — you  will 
for  once  in  your  life  support  the  honour  of  a  Marquis !  " 

And  with  these  words  he  seized  the  unhappy  Roman 
cab-driver  by  the  collar  of  his  coat,  and  flung  him  to- 
wards Fontenelle,  who  took  not  the  slightest  notice  of  him 
as  he  lay  huddled  up  and  wailing  on  the  grass,  but  merely 
stood  his  ground,  silently  waiting.  Mademoiselle  Jeanne 
Richatid  however  was  not  so  easily  disposed  of.  Throw- 
ing herself  on  the  cold  ground,  thick  with  the  dust  of 
dead  Caesars,  she  clung  to  Miraudin,  pouring  out  a  tor- 
rent of  vociferous  French,  largely  intermixed  with  a  spe- 
cial slang  of  the  Paris  streets,  and  broken  by  the  hysterical 
yells  when  she  saw  her  "  protector  "  throw  off  his  coat, 
and,  standing  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  take  close  observation 
of  the  pistol  he  held. 

"Is  this  your  care  of  me?"  she  cried,  "  Mon  Dieu! 
What  a  thing  is  a  man !  Here  am  I  alone  in  a  strange 
country — and  you  endanger  your  life  for  some  quarrel  of 
which  I  know  nothing, — yet  you  pretend  to  love  me ! 
No m  de  Jesus !  What  is  your  love !  " 

"  You  do  well  to  ask,"  said  Miraudin,  laughing  care- 
lessly, "  What  is  my  love !  A  passing  fancy,  chere  petite! 
We  actors  simulate  love  too  well  to  ever  feel  it !  Out  of 
the  way,  jou-jou!  Your  life  will  be  amusing  so  long  as 
you  keep  a  little  beaute  de  diable.  After  that — the  lodg- 
ing-house !  " 

He  pushed  her  aside,  but  she  still  clung  pertinaciously 
to  his  arm. 

"  Victor !  Victor !  "  she  wailed,  "  Will  you  not  look  at 
me — will  you  not  kiss  me !  " 

Miraudin  wheeled  round,  and  stared  at  her  amazed. 

"  Kiss  you !  "  he  echoed,  "  Pardieu!  Would  you  care! 
Jeanne !  Jeanne  !  You  are  a  little  mad, — the  moonlight  is 
too  much  for  you !  To-morrow  I  will  kiss  you,  when  the 
sun  rises — or  if  I  am  not  here — whv,  somebody  else  will !  " 

"  Who  is  the  woman  you  are  fighting  for  ?  "  she  sud- 


The  Master-Christian.  345 

denly  demanded,  springing  up  from  her  crouching  po- 
sition with  flushed  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes.  Miraudin 
looked  at  her  \vith  nonchalant  admiration. 

"  I  wish  you  would  have  looked  like  that  sometimes  on 
my  stage,"  he  said,  "  You  would  have  brought  down  the 
house!  'Woman!'  No  'woman'  at  all,  but  women! 
The  glamour  of  them — the  witchery  of  them — women ! — 
the  madness  of  them !  Women  ! — The  one  woman  saves 
when  the  one  woman  exists,  but  then, — we  generally  kill 
her!  Now,  once  more,  Jeanne, — out  of  the  way!  Time 
flies,  and  Monsieur  Ic  Marquis  is  in  haste.  He  has  many 
fashionable  engagements !  " 

He  flashed  upon  her  a  look  from  the  bright  amorous 
hazel  eyes,  that  were  potent  to  command  and  difficult  to 
resist,  and  she  cowered  back,  trembling  and  sobbing  hys- 
terically as  the  Marquis  advanced. 

"  You  are  ready  ?  "  he  enquired  civilly. 

"  Ready !  " 

"  Shall  we  say  twelve  paces  ?  " 

"  Excellent !  "" 

Deliberately  Fontenelle  dug  his  heel  into  the  ground 
and  measured  twelve  paces  from  that  mark  between  him- 
self and  his  antagonist.  Then  with  cold  courtesy  he  stood 
aside  for  Miraudin  to  assure  himself  that  the  measure- 
ment was  correct.  The  actor  complied  with  this  for- 
mality in  a  sufficiently  composed  way,  and  with  a  certain 
grace  and  dignity  which  Fontenelle  might  almost  have 
taken  for  bravery  if  he  had  not  been  so  convinced  that 
the  man  was  "  acting  "  still  in  his  mind,  and  was  going 
through  a  "  part  "  which  he  disliked,  but  which  he  was 
forced  to  play.  And  with  it  all  there  was  something  inde- 
finable about  him — something  familiar  in  the  turn  of  his 
head,  the  glance  of  his  eye,  the  movement  of  his  body, 
which  annoyed  Fontenelle,  because  he  saw  in  all  these 
little  personal  touches  such  a  strong  resemblance  to  him- 
self. But  there  was  now  no  time  to  think,  as  the  mo- 
ment for  the  combat  drew  near.  Jeanne  Richaud  was 
still  weeping  hysterically  and  expostulating  with  the  cab- 
driver,  who  paid  no  attention  whatsoever  to  her  pleadings, 
but  remained  obstinately  on  his  knees  out  of  harm's  way, 
begging  the  "  Santissima  Madonna  "  and  all  his  "  patron 
saints  "  to  see  him  safely  with  his  fiacre  back  to  the  city. 
That  was  all  he  cared  for. 


346  The  Master-Christian. 

"  We  have  no  one  to  give  us  a  signal,"  said  Miraudin 
lightly,  "  But  there  is  •  a  cloud  on  the  moon.  When  it 
passes,  shall  \ve  fire  ?  " 

The  Marquis  bowed  assent. 

For  a  moment  the  moon-rays  were  obscured, — and  a 
faint  sigh  from  the  wind  stirred  the  long  dry  grass.  A 
bat  flew  by,  scurrying  towards  the  Catacombs  of  Alexan- 
der,— a  shadow  lay  upon  the  land.  The  combatants, — so 
singularly  alike  in  form  and  feature, — stood  rigidly  in 
position,  their  weapons  raised, — their  only  witnesses  a 
cabman  and  a  wanton,  both  creatures  terrified  out  of  their 
wits  for  themselves  and  their  own  safety.  Swiftly  the 
cloud  passed — and  a  brilliant  silver  glory  was  poured  out 
on  hill  and  plain  and  broken  column, — and  as  it  shone, 
the  two  shots  were  fired  simultaneously — the  two  bullets 
whizzed  through  the  air.  A  light  puff  of  smoke  rose  in 
the  moonbeams it  cleared — and  Miraudin  reeled  back- 
wards and  fell  heavily  to  the  ground.  Fontenelle  stood 
upright,  but  staggered  a  little, — instinctively  putting  his 
hand  to  his  breast.  Jeanne  Richaud  rushed  to  the  side  of 
her  fallen  lover. 

"  Victor !     Victor !  " 

Miraudin  struggled  up  to  a  half  sitting  position — 
the  blood  was  welling  up  thickly  from  a  wound  in  his 
lungs.     Half  suffocated  as  he  was,  he  made  a  strong 
effort  to  speak,  and  succeeded. 

"  Not  you — not  you !  "  he  gasped,  "  Do  not  touch  me  ! 

Do    not    come    near    me !      Him ! him !  "      And    he 

pointed  to  Fontenelle  who  still  stood  erect,  swaying 
slightly  to  and  fro  with  a  dazed  far-off  look  in  his  eyes — 
but  now — as  the  frenzied  soubrette  beckoned  him,  he 
moved  unsteadily  to  the  side  of  his  mortally  wounded  op- 
ponent, and  there,  through  weakness,  not  emotion, 
dropped  on  his  knees.  Miraudin  looked  at  him  with 
staring  filmy  eyes. 

"How  I  have  hated  you,  Monsieur  le  Marquis!"  he 
muttered  thickly,  "  How  I  have  hated  you  !  Yes — as  Cain 
hated  Abel !  For  we — we  are  brothers  as  they  were 

born    of   the   same    father — ah !      You    start !  "    for 

Fontenelle  uttered  a  gasping  cry "  Yes — in  spite  of 

your  pride,  your  lineage,  your  insolent  air  of  superiority 
— your  father  was  my  father! — the  late  Marquis  was  no 
more  satisfied  with  one  wife  than  any  of  us  are! — and 


The  Master-Christian.  347 

had  no  higher  code  of  honour!  Your  mother  was  a 
grande  dame, — mine  was  a  '  light  o'  love  '  like  this  feeble 
creature !  "  and  he  turned  his  glance  for  a  moment  on  the 
shuddering,  wailing  Jeanne  Richaud.  "  You  were 
the  legal  Marquis — /  the  illegal  genius!  .  .  .  yes — 
genius !  " 

He  broke  off,  struggling  for  breath. 

"  Do  you  hear  me  ?  "  he  whispered  thickly,  "  Do  you 
hear?" 
.  "  I  hear,"  answered  Fontenelle,  speaking  with  difficulty, 

"  You  have  hated  me,  you  say hate  me  no  more ! — 

for  hate  is  done  with and  love  also ! 1  am 

dying !  " 

He  grasped  the  rank  grass  with  both  hands  in  sudden 
agony,  and  his  face  grew  livid.  Miraudin  turned  him- 
self on  one  arm. 

"  Dying !     You,    too !     By    Heaven !    Then    the    Mar- 

quisate  must  perish!     I  should  have  fired  in  the  air 

but but   the   sins   of   the   fathers  .  .  .  what   is   it  ? " 

Here  a  ghastly  smile  passed  over  his  features,  "  The  sins 
of  the  fathers — are  visited  on  the  children!  What  a 
merciful  Deity  it  is,  to  make  such  an  arrangement ! — and 
the  excellent  fathers ! — when  all  the  children  meet  them 

—I  wonder  what  they  will  have  to  say  to  each  other • 

I  wonder  ..."  A  frightful  shudder  convulsed  his  body 
and  he  threw  up  his  arms. 


1  '  Un  peu  d'amour, 
Et  puis — bon  soir  !  ' 


C'est  fa!    Bon  soir,  Marquis!  " 

A  great  sigh  broke  from  his  lips,  through  which  the 
discoloured  blood  began  to  ooze  slowly — he  was  dead. 
And  Fontenelle,  whose  wound  bled  inwardly,  turned  him- 
self wearily  round  to  gaze  on  the  rigid  face  upturned  to 
the  moon.  His  brother's  face !  So  like  his  own !  He 

was  not  conscious  himself  of  any  great  pain he  felt 

a  dizzy  languor  and  a  drowsiness  as  of  dreams — but  he 
knew  what  the  dreaming  meant, — he  knew  that  he  would 

soon  sleep  to  wake  again but  where?    He  did  not  see 

that  the  woman  who  had  professed  to  love  Miraudin  had 
already  rushed  away  from  his  corpse  in  terror,  and  was 
entreating  the  cabman  to  drive  her  quickly  from  the 


348  The  Master-Christian. 

scene  of  combat, — he  realised  nothing  save  the  white 
moonbeams  on  the  still  face  of  the  man  who  in  God's  sight 
had  been  his  brother.  Fainter  and  still  fainter  grew  his 

breath but  he  felt  near  his  heart  for  a  little  crumpled 

knot  of  filmy  lace  which  he  always  carried — a  delicate 
trifle  which  had  fallen  from  one  of  Sylvie's  pretty  even- 
ing gowns  once,  when  he  had  caught  her  in  his  arms  and 
sworn  his  passion.  He  kissed  it  now,  and  inhaled  its 

violet  perfume as  he  took  it  from  his  lips  he  saw  that 

it  was  stained  with  blood.  The  heavy  languor  upon  him 
grew  heavier — and  in  the  dark  haze  which  began  to  float 
before  his  eyes  he  saw  women's  faces,  some  beau- 
tiful, some  devilish,  yet  all.  familiar, — he  felt  him- 
self sinking — sinking  into  some  deep  abyss  of  shad- 
ows, so  dark  and  dreary  that  he  shuddered  with 
the  icy  cold  and  horror,  till  Sylvie  came,  yes ! — 
Sylvie's  soft  eyes  shone  upon  him,  full  of  the  pity  and 
tenderness  of  some  divine  angel  near  God's  throne, — an 

angel  of  sweetness — an  angel  of  forgiveness ah  ! — so 

sweet  she  was,  so  childlike,  so  trusting,  so  fair,  so  entic- 
ing in  those  exquisite  ways  of  hers  which  had  pleaded 
with  him,  prayed  to  him,  tried  to  draw  him  back  from 
evil,  and  incite  him  to  noble  thought ;  "  ways  "  that  would 
have  persuaded  him  to  cleanse  his  flag  of  honour  from  the 
mud  of  social  vice  and  folly,  and  lift  it  to  the  heavens 
white  and  pure !  Ah,  sweet  ways  ! — sweet  voice  ! — sweet 
woman ! — sweet  possibilities  of  life  now  gone  forever ! 
Again  that  sinking, — that  icy  chill !  His  eyes  were  clos- 
ing— yet  he  forced  himself  to  open  them  as  he  sank  back 

heavily  on  the  truf ,  and  then then  he  saw  the  great 

white  moon  descending  on  him  as  it  seemed,  like  a  shield 
of  silver  flung  down  to  crush  him,  by  some  angry  god ! 

"  Sylvie ! — Sylvie !  "  he  muttered,  "  I  never  knew — how 
much  I  loved  you till — now  !  Sylvie !  " 

His  eyes  closed — a  little  smile  flickered  on  his  mouth 
for  a  moment — and  then  the  Shadow  fell.  And  he  lay 
stark  and  pallid  in  the  moonlight,  close  to  the  brother 
he  had  never  known  till  the  last  hour  of  life  had  revealed 
the  bond  of  blood  between  them.  Side  by  side  they  lay, 
— strangely  alike  in  death, — men  to  whom  the  possibilities 
of  noble  living  had  been  abundantly  given,  and  who  had 
wasted  all  their  substance  on  vanitv.  For  Victor  Mirau- 
din,  despite  his  genius  and  the  brilliancy  of  his  art,  was 


The  Master-Christian.  349 

not  likely  to  be  longer  remembered  or  mourned  than  the 
Marquis  Fontenelle.  The  fame  of  the  actor  is  even  less 
than  that  of  the  great  noble, — the  actor's  name  is  but  a 
bubble  on  the  air  which  a  breath  disperses, — and  the 
heir  to  a  proud  house  is  only  remembered  by  the  flattering 
inscription  on  his  tombstone.  Forgotten  Caesars,  greater 
than  any  living  monarch,  had  mixed  their  bones  with  the 
soil  where  these  two  sons  of  one  father  lay  dead, — the 
bright  moon  was  their  sanctuary  lamp, — the  stars  their 
funeral  torches, — the  width  of  the  Campagna  their  bier, 
and  the  heavens  their  pall.  And  when  the  two  terrified 
witnesses  of  the  fatal  fight  realised  the  position,  and  saw 
that  both  combatants  had  truly  perished,  there  were  no  re- 
grets, no  lamentations,  no  prayers,  no  thought  of  going 
for  assistance.  With  the  one  selfish  idea  uppermost, — 
that  of  escaping  immediate  trouble — Jeanne  Richaud  ral- 
lied her  scattered  wits,  and  dragging  the  praying  and 
gesticulating  cab-driver  up  from  his  knees,  she  bade  him 
mount  his  box  and  drive  her  back  to  the  city.  Trem- 
blingly he  prepared  to  obey,  but  not  without  unfastening 
the  horse  which  the  dead  Marquis  had  so  lately  ridden, 
and  taking  some  trouble  to  attach  it  to  his  vehicle  for  his 
own  uses. 

"  For  if  we  do  this,  they  will  never  know !  "  he  mut- 
tered with  chattering  teeth,  "  A  horse  is  always  a  horse 
— and  thfs  is  a  good  animal,  more  valuable  than  the  men ; 
— and  when  they  find  the  men  that  is  none  of  our  business. 
In — in  with  you,  Madama!  I  will  drive  you  into  the 
city, — that  is,  if  you  give  me  a  thousand  francs  instead  of 
the  five  hundred  your  man  promised  me !  Otherwise  I 
will  leave  you  here !  " 

"A  thousand!"  shrieked  Richaud,  "Oh,  thief!  You 
know  I  am  a  poor  stranger — Oh,  inon  Dieu!  Do  not 
murder  me !  "  This,  as  the  driver,  having  hustled  her 
into  the  vehicle  and  shut  the  door,  now  shook  his  dirty 
fist  at  her  threateningly.  "  Oh  ! — what  a  night  of  horror ! 
Yes — yes ! — a  thousand  ! — anything ! — only  take  me  back 
to  Rome !  " 

Satisfied  in  his  own  mind  that  he  had  intimidated  her 
sufficiently  to  make  her  give  him  whatever  he  demanded, 
the  driver  who,  despite  his  native  cupidity,  was  seriously 
alarmed  for  his  own  safety,  hesitated  no  longer,  and  the 
noise  of  the  dashing  wheels  and  the  galloping  hoofs  woke 


350  The  Master-Christian. 

loud  echoes  from  the  road,  and  dull  reverberations  from 
the  Ponte  Nomentano,  as  the  equipage,  with  two  horses 
now  instead  of  one,  clattered  out  of  sight.  And  then 
came  silence, — the  awful  silence  of  the  Campagna — a 
silence  like  no  other  silence  in  the  world — brooding  like 
darkness  around  the  dead. 


XXIV. 

THE  next  morning  dawned  with  all  the  strange  half 
mystical  glow  of  light  and  colour  common  to  the  Italian 
sky, — flushes  of  pink  warmed  the  gray  clouds,  and  daz- 
zling, opalescent  lines  of  blue  suggested  the  sun  without 
declaring  it, — and  Sylvie  Hermenstein,  who  had  passed 
a  restless  and  wakeful  night,  rose  early  to  go  on  one  of 
what  her  society  friends  called  her  "  eccentric  "  walks 
abroad,  before  the  full  life  of  the  city  was  up  and  stir- 
ring. She,  who  seemed  by  her  graceful  mignonne  fas- 
cinations and  elegant  toilettes,  just  a  butterfly  of  fashion 
and  no  more,  was  truly  of  a  dreamy  and  poetic  nature, 
— she  had  read  very  deeply,  and  the  griefs  and  joys  of 
humanity  presented  an  ever-varying  problem  to  her  re- 
fined and  penetrative  mind.  She  was  just  now  interest- 
ing herself  in  subjects  which  she  had  never  studied  so 
closely  before, — and  she  was  gradually  arriving  at  the 
real  secret  of  the  highest  duty  of  life, — that  of  serving  and 
working  for  others  without  consideration  for  oneself.  A 
great  love  was  teaching  her  as  only  a  great  love  can ; — a 
love  which  she  scarcely  dared  to  admit  to  herself,  but 
which  nevertheless  was  beginning  to  lead  her  step  by  step, 
into  that  mysterious  land,  half  light,  half  shadow7,  which 
is  the  nearest  road  to  Heaven, — a  land  where  we  suffer 
gladly  for  another's  sorrow,  and  are  joyous  in  our  own 
griefs,  because  another  is  happy !  To  love  one  greatly, 
means  to  love  all  more  purely, — and  to  find  heart-room 
and  sympathy  for  the  many  sorrows  and  perplexities  of 
those  who  are  not  as  uplifted  as  ourselves.  For  the  true 
mission  of  the  divine  passion  in  its  divinest  form,  is  that 
it  should  elevate  and  inspire  the  soul,  bringing  it  to  the 
noblest  issues,  and  for  this  it  must  be  associated  with  re- 
spect, as  well  as  passion.  No  true  soul  can  love  what  it 
does  not  sincerely  feel  to  be  worthy  of  love.  And  Syl- 
vie— the  brilliant  little  caressable  Sylvie,  whose  warm 
heart  had  been  so  long  unsatisfied,  was,  if  not  yet 
crowned  by  the  full  benediction  of  love,  still  gratefully 
aware  of  the  wonderful  colour  and  interest  which  had 

351 


352  The  Master-Christian. 

suddenly  come  into  her  life  with  the  friendship  of  Aubrey 
Leigh.  His  conversation,  so  different  to  the  "  small  talk  " 
of  the  ordinary  man,  not  only  charmed  her  mind,  but 
strengthened  and  tempered  it, — his  thoughtful  and  tender 
personal  courtesy  filled  her  with  that  serenity  which  is 
always  the  result  of  perfect  manner, — his  high  and  pure 
ideas  of  life  moved  her  to  admiration  and  homage, — and 
when  she  managed  to  possess  herself  of  every  book  he  had 
written,  and  had  read  page  after  page,  sentence  after  sen- 
tence, of  the  glowing,  fervent,  passionate  language,  in 
which  he  denounced  shams  and  glorified  truth, — the  firm- 
ness and  fearlessness  with  which  he  condemned  religious 
hypocrisy,  and  lifted  pure  Christianity  to  the  topmost 
pinnacle  of  any  faith  ever  known  or  accepted  in  the  world, 
her  feelings  for  him,  while  gaining  fresh  warmth,  grew 
deeper  and  more  serious,  merging  into  reverence  as  well 
as  submission.  She  had  a  book  of  his  with  her  as  a  com- 
panion to  her  walk  this  very  morning,  and  as  she  entered 
the  Pamphili  woods,  where  she  had  a  special  "  permesso  " 
to  go  whenever  she  chose,  and  trod  the  mossy  paths, 
where  the  morning  sun  struck  golden  shafts  between  the 
dark  ilex-boughs,  as  though  pointing  to  the  thousands  of 
violets  that  blossomed  in  the  grass  beneath,  she  opened  it 
at  a  page  containing  these  lines : — 

"  Who  is  it  that  dares  assert  that  his  life  or  his  thoughts 
are  his  own?  No  man's  life  is  his  own!  It  is  given  to 
him  in  charge  to  use  for  the  benefit  of  others, — and  if  he 
does  not  so  use  it,  it  is  often  taken  from  him  when  he 
least  expects  it.  '  Thou  fool,  this  night  thy  life  siiail  be 
required  of  thee! '  No  man's  thoughts  even,  are  his  own. 
They  are  the  radiations  of  the  Infinite  Mind  of  God  which 
pass  through  every  living  atom.  The  beggar  may  have 
the  same  thought  as  the  Prime  Minister, — he  only  lacks 
the  power  of  expression.  The  more  helpless  and  inept 
the  beggar,  the  greater  the  responsibility  of  the  Premier. 
For  the  Premier  has  received  education,  culture,  train- 
ing, and  the  choice  of  the  people,  and  to  him  is  given 
the  privilege  of  voicing  the  beggar's  thought.  And  not 
only  the  beggar's  thought,  but  the  thoughts  of  all  in  the 
nation  who  have  neither  the  skill  nor  the  force  to  speak. 
If  he  does  not  do  what  he  is  thus  elected  to  do,  he  is  but 
an  inefficient  master  of  affairs.  And  what  shall  we  say 


The  Master-Christian.  353 

of  the  ministers  of  Religion  who  are  '  ordained  '  to  voice 
the  Message  of  Christ  ?  To  echo  the  Divine ! — to  repeat 
the  grand  Ethics  of  Life, — the  Law  of  Love  and  Charity 
and  Forbearance  and  Pity  and  Forgiveness !  When  one 
of  these  highly  destined  servants  of  the  Great  King  fails 
in  his  duty, — when  he  cannot  pardon  the  sinner, — when 
he  looks  churlishly  upon  a  child,  or  condemns  the  innocent 
amusements  of  the  young  and  happy, — when  he  makes  the 
sweet  Sabbath  a  day  of  penance  instead  of  praise — of 
tyranny  instead  of  rest, — when  he  has  no  charity  for  back- 
sliders, no  sympathy  for  the  sorrowful,  no  toleration  for 

the    contradictors    of    his    own    particular    theory do 

we  not  feel  that  his  very  existence  is  a  blasphemy,  and 
his  preaching  a  presumption !  " 

Here  Sylvie  raised  her  eyes  from  the  book.  She  was 
near  an  ancient  cedar-tree  whose  dark  spreading  boughs, 
glistening  with  the  early  morning  dew,  sparkled  like  a 
jewelled  canopy  in  the  sun, — at  her  feet  the  turf  was 
brown  and  bare,  but  a  little  beyond  at  the  turn  of  the 
pathway,  a  cluster  of  white  narcissi  waved  their  graceful 
stems  to  the  light  wind.  There  was  a  rustic  bench  close 
by,  and  she  sat  down  to  rest  and  think.  Very  sweet 
thoughts  were  hers, — such  thoughts  as  sweet  women 
cherish  when  they  dream  of  Love.  Often  the  dream 
vanishes  before  realisation,  but  this  does  not  make  the 
time  of  dreaming  less  precious  or  less  fair.  Lost  in  a 
reverie  which  in  its  pleasantness  brought  a  smile  to  her 
lips,  she  did  not  hear  a  stealthy  footstep  on  the  grass  be- 
hind her,  or  feel  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  watching  her  fur- 
tively from  between  the  cedar-boughs, — and  she  started 
with  surprise,  and  something  of  offence  also,  as  Mon- 
signor  Gherardi  suddenly  appeared  and  addressed  her, — 

"  Buon  giorno,  Contessa!" 

She  rose  from  her  seat  and  saluted  him  in  silence,  in- 
stinctively grasping  the  book  she  held  a  little  closer.  But 
Gherardi's  quick  glance  had  already  perceived  the  title 
and  the  name  of  its  author. 

"  You  improve  the  time !  "  he  said,  sarcastically,  pac- 
ing slowly  beside  her.  "  To  one  of  your  faith  and  devo- 
tion that  book  should  be  accursed !  " 

She  raised  her  clear  eyes  and  looked  at  him  straightly. 

"Is  the  sunlight  accursed?"  she  said,  "The  grass  or 


_t 

354  The  Master-Christian. 

the  flowers?  The  thoughts  in  this  book  are  as  pure  and 
beautiful  as  they  !  " 

Gherardi  smiled.  The  enthusiasm  of  a  woman's  un- 
spoilt nature  was  always  a  source  of  amusement  to  him. 

"  Your  sentiments  are  very  pretty  and  poetic !  "  he  said, 
"  But  they  are  exaggerated.  That  book  is  on  the  '  In- 
dex ' !  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  it  would  be !  "  answered  Sylvie  quietly. 
"  I  have  often  wondered  why  so  much  fine  literature  is 
condemned  by  the  Church, — and  do  you  know,  it  oc- 
curred to  me  the  other  day  that  if  our  Lord  had  written 
what  He  said  in  the  form  of  a  book,  it  might  be  placed  on 
the 'Index 'also?" 

Gherardi  lifted  his  eyes  from  their  scrutiny  of  the 
ground,  and  fixed  them  upon  her  with  a  look  of  amaze- 
ment that  was  almost  a  menace.  But  she  was  not  in  the 
least  intimidated, — and  her  face,  though  pale  as  the  nar- 
cissi she  had  just  seen  in  blossom,  was  very  tranquil. 

"  Are  you  the  Comtesse  Hermenstein  ?  "  said  Gherardi 
then,  after  an  impressive  pause,  "  The  faithful,  gentle 
daughter  of  Holy  Church?  or  are  you  some  perverted 
spirit  wearing  her  semblance  ?  " 

Sylvie  laughed. 

"  If  I  am  a  perverted  spirit  you  ought  to  be  able  to  ex- 
orcise me,  Monsignor !  "  she  said, — "  With  the  incense  of 
early  Mass  clinging  to  you,  and  the  holy  water  still  fresh 
on  your  hands,  you  have  only  to  say,  '  Retro  me 
Sathanas ! '  and  if  I  am  not  Sylvie  Hermenstein  I  shall 
melt  into  thin  air,  leaving  nothing  but  the  odour  of  sul- 
phur behind  me !  But  if  I  am  Sylvie  Hermenstein,  I 
shall  remain  invincible  and  immovable, — both  in  myself 
and  in  my  opinions  !  " 

Gherardi  controlled  his  rising  irritation,  and  was  silent 
for  some  minutes,  reflecting  within  himself  that  if  the 
fair  Countess  had  suddenly  turned  restive  and  wayward, 
it  was  probably  because  she  was  falling  in  love  with  the 
author  whose  works  she  defended,  and  taking  this  into 
consideration,  he  judged  it  would  be  wisest  to  temporise. 

"  Invincible  you  always  are !  "  he  said  in  softer  tones, 
"  As  many  unhappy  men  in  Europe  can  testify !  " 

"  Are  you  among  them  ?  "  queried  Sylvie  mischievously, 
the  light  of  laughter  beginning  to  twinkle  and  flash  in  her 
pretty  eyes. 


The  Master-Christian.  355 

"  Of  course !  "  answered  Gherardi  suavely,  though  his 
heart  beat  thickly,  and  the  secret  admiration  he  had  al- 
\vays  felt  for  the  delicate  beauty  of  this  woman  who  was 
so  utterly  out  of  his  reach,  made  his  blood  burn  with  min- 
gled rage  and  passion.  "  Even  a  poor  priest  is  not  ex- 
empt from  temptation !  " 

Sylvie  hummed  a  little  tune  under  her  breath,  and 
looked  up  at  the  sky. 

"  It  will  be  a  lovely  day !  "  she  said — "  There  will  be  no 
rain !  " 

"  Is  that  the  most  interesting  thing  you  can  say  to  me?  " 
queried  Gherardi. 

"  The  weather  is  always  interesting,"  she  replied,  "  And 
it  is  such  a  safe  subject  of  conversation !  " 

;<  Then  you  are  afraid  of  dangerous  subjects?" 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all !  But  I  dislike  quarrelling, — and  I 
am  afraid  I  should  get  very  angry  if  you  were  to  say  any- 
thing more  against  the  book  I  am  reading  " — here  she 
paused  a  moment,  and  then  added  steadily,  "  or  its  au- 
thor !  " 

"  I  am  aware  that  he  is  a  great  friend  of  yours,"  said 
Gherardi  gently,  "  And  I  assure  you,  Contessa — seriously 
I  assure  you,  I  should  be  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
say  anything  against  him.  Indeed,  there  is  nothing  to 
say,  beyond  the  fact  that  he  is,  according  to  our  religion, 
a  heretic — but  he  is  a  brilliant  and  intellectual  heretic, — 
zcr//  worth  redeeming!" 

He  emphasised  the  words,  and  shot  a  meaning  glance 
at  her ;  but  she  did  not  appear  to  take  his  hint  or  fathom 
his  intention.  She  walked  on  steadily,  her  eyes  down- 
cast,— her  tiny  feet,  shod  in  charming  little  French  walk- 
ing shoes,  peeping  in  and  out  with  a  flash  of  steel  on  their 
embroidered  points,  from  under  the  mysterious  gleam  of 
silk  flounces  that  gave  a  soft  "  swish,"  as  she  moved, — 
her  golden  hair  escaping  in  one  or  two  silky  waves  from 
under  a  picturesque  black  hat,  fastened  on  by  velvet  rib- 
bons, which  were  tied  in  a  captivating  knot  under  the 
sweetest  of  little  white  chins,  a  chin  whose  firm  con- 
tour almost  contradicted  the  sensitive  lines  of  the  kiss- 
able  mouth  above  it.  A  curious,  dull  sense  of  anger 
teased  the  astute  brain  of  Domenico  Gherardi,  as  with 
all  the  dignified  deportment  of  the  stately  churchman,  he 
walked  on  by  her  side.  What  was  all  his  scheming 


356  The  Master-Christian. 

worth,  he  began  to  think,  if  this  slight  feminine  creature 
proved  herself  more  than  a  match  for  him?  The  utmost 
he  could  do  with  his  life  and  ambitions  was  to  sway  the 
ignorant,  cram  his  coffers  with  gold,  and  purchase  a 
change  of  mistresses  for  his  villa  at  Frascati.  But  love, 
— real  love,  from  any  human  creature  alive  he  never  had 
won,  and  knew  he  never  should  win.  Sylvie  Hermen- 
stein  was  richer  far  than  he, — she  had  not  only  wealth  and 
a  great  position,  but  the  joys  of  a  natural  existence,  and 
of  a  perfect  home-life  were  not  denied  to  her.  Presently, 
seeing  that  they  were  approaching  the  gates  of  exit  from 
the  Pamphili,  he  said, — 

"  Contessa,  will  you  give  me  the  favour  of  an  hour's 
conversation  with  you  one  afternoon  this  week?  I  have 
something  of  the  very  greatest  importance  to  say  to  you." 

"  Can  you  not  say  it  now?  "  asked  Sylvie. 

"  No,  it  would  take  too  long, — besides,  if  walls  have 
ears,  it  is  possible  that  gardens  have  tongues !  I  should 
not  presume  to  trouble  you,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that 
my  business  concerns  the  welfare  of  your  friend,  Mr. 
Aubrey  Leigh,  in  whose  career  I  think  you  are  interested, 
— and  not  only  Mr.  Leigh,  but  also  Cardinal  Bonpre. 
You  will  be  wise  to  give  me  the  interview  I  seek, — unwise 
if  you  refuse  it !  " 

"  Monsignor,  you  have  already  been  well  received  at 
my  house,  and  will  be  well  received  again," — said  Sylvie 
with  a  pretty  dignity,  "  Provided  you  do  not  abuse  my 
hospitality  by  calumniating  my  friends,  whatever  you 
may  think  of  myself, — you  will  be  welcome !  What  day, 
and  at  what  hour  shall  I  expect  you  ?  " 

Gherardi  considered  a  moment. 

"  I  will  write,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  cannot  at  this  mo- 
ment fix  the  time,  but  I  will  not  fail  to  give  you  notice. 
A  riverderci!  Benedicite!" 

And  he  left  her  abruptly  at  the  gates,  walking  rapidly 
in  the  direction  of  the  Vatican.  Full  of  vague  perplexi- 
ties to  which  she  could  give  no  name,  Sylvie  went  home- 
wards slowly,  and  as  she  entered  her  rooms,  and  re- 
sponded to  the  affectionate  morning  greetings  of  Madame 
Bozier,  she  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  depression  that 
stole  over  her  bright  soul  like  a  dark  cloud  on  a  sunny  day, 
and  made  her  feel  chilled  and  sad.  Turning  over  the  nu- 
merous letters  that  waited  her  perusal,  she  recognised  the 


The  Master-Christian  357 

handwriting  of  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  on  one,  and  took 
it  up  with  a  strange  uneasy  dread  and  beating  of  the 
heart.  She  read  it  twice  through,  before  entirely  grasp- 
ing its  meaning,  and  then — as  she  realised  that  the  man 
who  had  caused  her  so  much  pain  and  shame  by  his  law- 
less and  reckless  pursuit  of  her  in  the  character  of  a  liber- 
tine, was  now,  with  a  frank  confession  of  his  total  un- 
\vorthiness,  asking  her  to  be  his  wife, — the  tears  rushed 
to  her  eyes,  and  a  faint  cry  broke  from  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  ...  I  cannot !  "  she  murmured,  "  Not 
now not  now !  " 

Madame  Bozier  looked  at  her  in  distress  and  amaze- 
ment. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  "  Some  bad 
news?  " 

Silently  Sylvie  handed  her  Fontenelle's  letter. 

"  Dear  me !  He  is  actually  in  Rome !  "  said  the  old 
lady,  "  And  he  asks  you  to  be  his  wife !  Well,  dear  child, 
is  not  that  what  you  had  a  right  to  expect  from  him  ?  " 

"  Yes perhaps but  I  cannot — not  now ! — Oh 

no,  not  now !  "  murmured  Sylvie,  and  her  eyes,  wet  with 
tears,  were  full  of  an  infinite  pain. 

"  But — pardon  me,  dear — do  you  not  love  him  ?  " 

Sylvie  stood  silent — gazing  blankly  before  her,  with 
such  perplexity  and  sorrow  in  her  face  that  her  faithful 
gourernante  grew  anxious  and  troubled. 

"  Child,  do  not  look  like  that !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  It  cuts 
me  to  the  heart !  You  were  not  made  for  sorrow !  " 

"  Dear  Katrine, — we  were  all  made  for  sorrow,"  said 
Sylvie  slowly,  "  Sorrow  is  good  for  us.  And  perhaps  I 
have  not  had  sufficient  of  it  to  make  me  strong.  And  this 
is  real  sorrow  to  me, — to  refuse  Fontenelle !  " 

"  But  why  refuse  him  if  you  love  him  ? "  asked 
Madame  Bozier  bewildered. 

Sylvia  sat  down  beside  her,  and  put  one  soft  arm 
caressingly  round  her  neck. 

"  Ah.  Katrine, — that  is  just  my  trouble,"  she  said,  "  I 
do  not  love  him  now !  When  I  first  met  him  he  attracted 
me  greatly,  I  confess, — he  seemed  so  gentle,  so  courteous, 
and  above  all,  so  true !  But  it  was  '  seeming '  only,  Ka- 
trine ! — and  he  was  not  anything  of  what  he  seemed.  His 
courtesy  and  gentleness  were  but  a  mask  for  licentious- 
ness,— his  apparent  truth  was  but  a  disguise  for  mere 


358  The  Master-Christian. 

reckless  and  inconstant  passion.  I  had  to  find  this  out, 
bit  by  bit, — and  oh,  how  cruel  was  the  disillusion !  How 
I  prayed  for  him,  wept  for  him,  tried  to  think  that  if  he 
loved  me  he  might  yet  endeavour  to  be  nobler  and  truer 
for  my  sake.  But  his  love  was  not  great  enough  for  that. 
What  he  wanted  was  the  body  of  me,  not  the  soul.  What 
/  wanted  of  him  was  the  soul,  not  the  body !  So  we 
played  at  cross  purposes, — each  with  a  different  motive, — 
and  gradually,  as  I  came  to  recognise  how  much  baseness 
and  brutality  there  is  in  mere  libertinism, — how  poor  and 
paltry  an  animal  man  becomes  when  he  serves  himself 
and  his  passions  only,  my  attraction  for  him  diminished, 
— I  grew  to  realise  that  I  could  never  raise  him  out  of 
the  mud,  because  he  had  lived  by  choice  too  long  in  it, 
— I  could  never  persuade  him  to  be  true,  even  to  himself, 
because  he  found  the  ways  of  falsehood  and  deceit  more 
amusing.  He  did  unworthy  things,  which  I  could  not, 
with  all  my  admiration  for  him,  gloze  over  or  excuse ; — 
in  fact,  I  found  that  in  his  private  life  and  code  of  honour 
he  was  very  little  better  than  Miraudin, — and  Miraudin, 
as  you  know,  one  cannot  receive !  " 

"  He  is  in  Rome  also,"  said  Madame  Bozier,  "  I  saw 
his  name  placarded  in  the  streets  only  yesterday,  and  also 
outside  one  of  the  leading  theatres.  He  has  brought  all 
his  Parisian  company  here  to  act  their  repertoire  for  a 
few  nights  before  proceeding  to  Naples." 

"  How  strange  he  should  be  here !  "  said  Sylvie,  "  How 
very  strange !  He  is  so  like  the  Marquis  Fontenelle,  Ka- 
trine !  So  very  like !  I  used  to  go  to  the  theatre  and 
frighten  myself  with  studying  the  different  points  of  re- 
semblance !  Every  feature  of  Miraudin's  face  seemed  to 
be  the  rough  copy  of  Fontenelle's, — and  I  always  saw  in 
the  actor  what  the  gentleman  would  be  if  he  continued 
to  live  as  he  was  doing.  Miraudin,  whose  amours  are  a 
disgrace,  even  to  the  stage ! — Miraudin,  who  in  his  po- 
sition of  actor-manager,  takes  despicable  advantage  of  all 
the  poor  ignorant,  struggling  creatures  who  try  to  get 
into  his  company,  and  whose  vain  little  heads  are  turned 
by  a  stray  compliment, — and  to  think  that  the  Marquis 
Fontenelle  should  be  merely  the  better-born  copy  of  so 
mean  a  villain !  Ah,  what  useless  tears  I  have  shed  about 
it, — how  I  have  grieved  and  worried  myself  all  in  vain! 
—and  now  .  .  " 


The  Master-Christian.  359 

"  Now  he  asks  you  to  marry  him,"  said  Madame 
Bozier  gently,  "  And  you  think  it  would  be  no  use?  You 
could  not  perhaps  make  him  a  better  man  ?  " 

"  Neither  I  nor  any  woman  could !  "  said  Sylvie,  "  I  do 
not  believe  very  much  in  '  reforming  '  men,  Katrine.  If 
they  need  to  reform,  they  must  reform  themselves.  We 
make  our  own  lives  what  they  are." 

"  Dear  little  philosopher !  "  said  Madame  Bozier  ten- 
derly, taking  Sylvie's  small  white  hand  as  it  hung  down 
from  her  shoulder  and  kissing  it,  "  You  are  very  de- 
pressed to-day !  You  must  not  take  things  so  seriously ! 
If  you  do  not  love  the  Marquis  as  you  once  did " 

"  As  I  once  did ah,  yes !  "  said  Sylvie,  "  I  did  love 

him.  I  thought  he  could  not  be  otherwise  than  great 
and  true  and  noble-hearted but " 

She  broke  off  with  a  sigh. 

"  Well,  and  now  that  you  know  he  is  not  the  hero  you 
imagined  him,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  tell  him  so,"  said  the 
practical  Bozier  cheerfully,  "  Or  if  you  do  not  want  to 
pain  him  by  such  absolute  candour,  give  him  his  refusal 
as  gently  and  kindly  as  you  can." 

Sylvie  sighed  again. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  "  If  I  could  have  foreseen 
this perhaps " 

"  But  did  you  not  foresee  it  ?  "  asked  Madame  Bozier 
persistently,  "  Did  you  not  realise  that  men  always  want 
what  they  cannot  have — and  that  the  very  fact  of  your 
leaving  Paris  increased  his  ardour  and  sent  him  on  here 
in  pursuit  ?  " 

Sylvie  Hermenstein  was  of  a  very  truthful  nature,  and 
she  had  not  attempted  to  deny  this  suggestion. 

"  Yes — I  confess  I  did  think  that  if  I  separated  myself 
altogether  from  him  it  might  induce  him  to  put  himself 
in  a  more  honourable  position  with  me — but  I  did  not 
know  then —  "  she  paused,  and  a  deep  flush  crimsoned 
her  cheeks. 

"  Did  not  know  what  ? "  queried  Madame  Bozier 
softly. 

Sylvie  hesitated  a  moment,  then  spoke  out  bravely. 

"  I  did  not  know  then  that  I  should  meet  another  man 
whose  existence  would  become  ten  times  more  interest- 
ing and  valuable  to  me  than  his !  Yes,  Katrine,  I  confess 
it !  There  is  no  shame  in  honesty !  And  so,  to  be  true  to 


360  The  Master-Christian. 

myself,  however  much  the  Marquis  might  love  me  now, 
I  could  never  be  his  wife." 

Madame  Bozier  was  silent.  She  guessed  her  beloved 
pupil's  heart's  secret, — but  she  was  too  tactful  to  dwell 
upon  the  subject,  and  before  the  brief,  half-embarrassed 
pause  between  them  had  ended,  a  servant  entered,  asking, 

"  Will  the  Signora  Contessa  receive  the  Capitano 
Ruspardi  ?  " 

Sylvie  rose  from  her  seat  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  Ruspardi  ? — I  do  not  know  the  name." 

"  The  business  is  urgent ; — the  Capitano  is  the  bearer 
of  a  letter  to  the  Signora  Contessa." 

"  Remain  with  me,  Katrine,"  said  Sylvie  after  a  pause, 
— then  to  the  servant — "  Show  Captain  Ruspardi  in  here." 

Another  moment,  and  a  young  officer  in  the  Italian  uni- 
form entered  hurriedly, — his  face  was  very  pale, — and  as 
the  Comtesse  Hermenstein  received  him  in  her  own  serene 
sweet  manner  which,  for  all  its  high-bred  air  had  some- 
thing wonderfully  winning  and  childlike  about  it,  his  self- 
control  gave  way,  and  when  after  a  profound  salute  he 
raised  his  eyes,  she  saw  they  were  full  of  tears.  Her 
heart  began  to  beat  violently. 

"  You  bring  some  bad  news  ?  "  she  asked  faintly. 

"  Madama,  I  beg  you  not  to  distress  yourself this 

letter — "  and  he  held  out  a  sealed  envelope, — "  was  given 
to  me  specially  marked,  among  others,  by  my  friend,  the 

Marquis  Fontenelle last  night  before — before  he  went 

to  his  death  !  " 

"  His  death !  "  echoed  Sylvie,  her  eyes  dilating  with 
horror "  His  death  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Madame  Bozier  came  quickly  to  her  side,  and  put  a 
hand  gently  on  her  arm.  But  she  did  not  seem  to  feel 
the  sympathetic  touch. 

"  His  death !  "  she  murmured.  And  with  trembling 
fingers  she  opened  and  read  the  last  lines  ever  penned  by 
her  too  passionate  admirer. 

"  SWEETEST  SYLVIE  !  Dearest  and  purest  of  women  !  If 
you  ever  receive  this  letter  I  shall  be  gone  beyond  the 
reach  of  your  praise  or  your  blame.  For  it  will  not  be 
given  to  you  at  all  unless  I  am  dead.  Dead,  dear  Sylvie ! 
That  will  be  strange,  will  it  not?  To  be  lying  quite  still, 
cold  and  stiff,  out  of  the  reach  of  your  pretty  warm  white 


The  Master-Christian.  361 

arms, — deprived  for  ever  and  ever  of  any  kiss  from  your 
rose-red  lips, — ah,  Sylvie,  it  will  be  very  cold  and  lonely ! 
But  perhaps  better  so!  To-night  I  saw  you,  up  in  your 
balcony,  with  someone  who  is  a  brave  and  famous  man, 
and  who  no  doubt  loves  you.  For  he  cannot  fail  to  love 
you,  if  he  knows  you.  God  grant  you  may  be  happy  when 
I  am  gone!  But  I  want  you  to  feel  that  to-night — to- 
night /  love  you ! — love  you  as  I  have  never  loved  you  or 
any  woman  before — without  an  evil  thought, — without 
a  selfish  wish ! — to  the  very  height  and  breadth  of  love, 
I  love  you,  my  queen,  my  rose,  my  saving  grace  of  sweet- 
ness ! — whose  name  I  shall  say  to  God  as  my  best  prayer 
for  pardon,  if  I  die  to-night ! 

FONTENELLE." 


Sylvie  shuddered  as  with  icy  cold  ...  a  darkness 
seemed  to  overwhelm  her  .  .  .  she  staggered  a  little,  and 
Ruspardi  caught  her,  wondering  at  the  lightness  and  deli- 
cacy and  beauty  of  her,  as  he  assisted  Madame  Bozier  to* 
lead  her  to  a  deep  fauteuil  where  she  sank  down,  trem- 
bling in  every  nerve. 

"  And — he  is  dead  ?  "  she  asked  mechanically. 

Ruspardi  bowed  a  grave  assent.  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment— then  forced  herself  to  speak  again. 

"  How  did  it  happen?" 

In  brief,  concise  words  Ruspardi  gave  the  account  of 
the  quarrel  with  Miraudin, — and  Sylvie  shrank  back  as 
though  she  had  received  a  blow  when  she  heard  that  her 
name  had  been  the  cause  of  the  dispute. 

"  And  this  morning,  hearing  no  news,"  continued  Rus- 
pardi, "  I  made  enquiries  at  the  theatre.  There  I  found 
everything  in  confusion  ;  Miraudin  and  a  sonbrette  named 
Jeanne  Richaud,  had  left  Rome  the  previous  evening  so 
the  box-keeper  said,  and  there  was  no  news  of  either  of 
them  beyond  a  note  from  the  girl  saying  she  had  returned 
alone  to  Paris  by  the  first  morning  train.  Nothing  had 
been  heard  of  Miraudin  himself ; — I  therefore,  knowing 
all  the  circumstances,  drove  out  to  the  Campagna  by  the 
Porte  Pia,  the  way  that  Miraudin  had  gone,  and  the  way 
i  bade  the  Marquis  follow  ; — but  on  the  Ponte  Nomentano 
I  met  some  of  the  Miserecordia  carrying  two  corpses  on 
the  same  bier, — two  corpses  so  strangely  alike  that  they 


362 


The  Master-Christian. 


might  almost  have  been  brothers! — they  were  the  bodies 
of  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  and, — Miraudin !  " 

Sylvie  uttered  a  low  cry  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"  Miraudin !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Bozier  in  horrified 
tones.  "  Miraudin!  Is  he  killed  also?" 

"  Yes,  Madame!  Both  shots  must  have  been  fired  with 
deadly  aim.  They  had  no  seconds.  "  Miraudin  had  hired 
a  common  fiacre  to  escape  in  from  the  city,  and  the  police 
will  offer  a  reward  for  the  discovery  of  the  driver.  My 
horse,  which  my  unfortunate  friend  Fontenelle  rode,  is 
gone,  and  if  it  could  be  discovered,  its  possessor  might 
furnish  a  clue; — but  I  imagine  it  will  be  difficult,  if  not 
impossible  to  trace  the  witnesses  of  the  combat.  The 
woman  Richaud  is  on  her  way  to  Paris.  But  by  this  time 
all  Rome  knows  of  the  death  of  Miraudin ;  and  in  a  few 
hours  all  the  world  will  know !  " 

"  And  what  of  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  ? "  asked 
Madame  Bozier. 

"  Madama,  I  posted  all  the  letters  he  entrusted  to  my 
charge.  The  one  I  have  brought  to  the  Contessa  was  en- 
closed in  an  envelope  to  me  and  marked  '  To  be  person- 
ally delivered  in  case  of  my  death  '.  But  among  the  let- 
ters for  the  post  was  one  to  the  Marquis's  only  sister,  the 
Abbess  of  a  convent  in  Paris — she  will  probably  claim 
her  brother's  remains." 

He  was  silent.  After  a  pause  Sylvie  rose  unsteadily, 
and  detached  a  cluster  of  violets  she  wore  at  her  neck. 

"  Will  you "  her  voice  faltered. 

But  Ruspardi  understood,  and  taking  the  flowers,  re- 
spectfully kissed  the  little  hand  that  gave  them. 

"  They  shall  be  buried  with  him,"  he  said.  "  His  hand 
was  clenched  in  death  on  a  small  knot  of  lace — you  per- 
haps might  recognise  it, — yes? so! — it  shall  be  left 

as  it  was  found." 

And, — his  melancholy  errand  being  done, — he  bowed 
profoundly  once  more,  and  retired. 

Sylvie  gazed  around  her  vaguely, — the  letter  of  her 
dead  admirer  grasped  in  her  hand, — and  his  former  let- 
ter, proposing  marriage,  lying  still  open  on  the  table.  Her 
old  gouvernante  watched  her  anxiously,  the  tears  rolling 
down  her  cheeks. 

"  You  are  crying,  Katrine !  "  she  said,  "  And  yet  you 


The  Master-Christian.  363 

knew  him  very  little, — he  never  loved  you !  I  wish — I 
wish  my  tears  would  come !  But  they  are  all  here — ach- 
ing and  hurting  me — "  and  she  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
heart —  •  "  You  see — when  one  is  a  woman  and  has  been 

loved  by  a  man,  one  cannot  but  feel  sorry for  such  an 

end !  You  see  he  was  not  altogether  cruel ! he  de- 
fended my  name and  he  has  died  for  my  sake !  For 

my  sake  ! Oh,  Katrine !     For  tny  sake !     So  he  did 

love  me — at  the  last !  .  .  .  and  I 1 Oh,  Ka- 
trine ! — I  wish 1  wish  the  tears  would  come !  " 

And  as  she  spoke  she  reeled and  uttering  a  little 

cry  like  that  of  a  wounded  bird,  dropped  senseless. 


XXV. 

THE  death  of  the  famous  actor  Miraudin  was  a  nine 
days'  wonder,  and  about  a  three  weeks'  regret.  He  had 
made  no  reputation  beyond  that  of  the  clever  Mime, — 
he  was  not  renowned  for  scholarship, — he  had  made  no 
mark  in  dramatic  literature, — and  his  memory  soon  sank 
out  of  sight  in  the  whirling  ocean  of  events  as  completely 
as  though  he  had  never  existed.  There  was  no  reality 
about  him,  and  as  a  natural  consequence  he  went  the  way 
of  all  Shams.  Had  even  his  study  of  his  art  been  sin- 
cere and  high — had  he  sought  for  the  best,  the  greatest,  and 
most  perfect  work,  and  represented  that  only  to  the  pub- 
lic, the  final  judgment  of  the  world  might  perhaps  have 
given  him  a  corner  beside  Talma  or  Edmund  Kean, — but 
the  conceit  of  him,  united  to  an  illiterate  mind,  was  too 
great  for  the  tolerance  of  the  universal  Spirit  of  things 
which  silently  in  the  course  of  years  pronounces  the  last 
verdict  on  a  man's  work.  Only  a  few  of  his  own  pro- 
fession remembered  him  as  one  who  might  have  been 
great  had  he  not  been  so  little ; — and  a  few  women  laughed 
lightly,  recalling  the  legion  of  his  "  amours  ",  and  said, 
"  Ce  pauvre  coquin,  Miraudin !  "  That  was  all.  And  for 
the  mortal  remains  of  Guy  Beausire-de  Fontenelle,  there 
came  a  lady,  grave  and  pale,  clothed  in  deep  black,  with 
the  nun's  white  band  crossing  her  severe  and  tranquil 
brows, — and  she,  placing  a  great  wreath  of  violets  fresh 
gathered  from  the  Pamphili  woods,  and  marked,  "  In  sor- 
row, from  Sylvie  Hermenstein  ",  on  the  closed  coffin,  es- 
corted her  melancholy  burden  back  to  Paris,  where  in  a 
stately  marble  vault,  to  the  solemn  sound  of  singing,  and 
-amid  the  flare  of  funeral  tapers,  wifh  torn  battle  banners 
drooping  around  his  bier,  and  other  decaying  fragments 
of  chivalry,  the  last  scion  of  the  once  great  house  of 
Fontenelle  was  laid  to  rest  with  his  fathers.  Little  did 
the  austere  Abbess,  who  was  the  chief  mourner  at  these 
obsequies,  guess  that  the  actor  Miraudin,  whose  grave 
had  been  hastily  dug  in  Rome,  had  also  a  right  to  be  laid 

364 


The  Master-Christian.  365 

in  the  same  marble  vault ; — proud  and  cold  and  stern  as 
her  heart  had  grown  through  long  years  of  pain  and  dis- 
appointment, it  is  possible  that  had  she  known  this,  her 
sufferings  might  have  been  still  more  poignant.  But  the 
secret  had  "died  with  the  dead  so  far  as  the  world  went; 
— there  remained  but  the  Eternal  Record  on  which  the 
bond  of  brotherhood  was  inscribed, — and  in  that  Eternal 
Record  some  of  us  do  our  best  not  to  believe,  notwith- 
standing the  universal  secret  dread  that  we  shall  all  be 
confronted  with  it  at  last. 

Meanwhile,  events  were  moving  rapidly,  and  the  net 
of  difficult  circumstance  was  weaving  itself  round  the 
good  Cardinal  Bonpre  in  a  manner  that  was  strangely 
perplexing  to  his  clear  and  just  mind.  He  had  received 
a  letter  from  Monsignor  Moretti,  worded  in  curtly  civil 
terms,  to  the  effect  that  as  the  Cardinal's  miracle  of  heal- 
ing had  been  performed  in  France,  he,  as  on  Vatican  ser- 
vice in  Paris,  found  it  his  duty  to  enquire  thoroughly  into 
all  the  details.  For  this  cause,  he,  Monsignor  Moretti, 
trusted  it  >  would  suit  the  Cardinal's  convenience  to  re- 
main in  Rome  till  the  return  of  Monsieur  Claude  Cazeau, 
secretary  to  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  who  had  been  de- 
spatched back  to  that  city  on  the  business  connected  with 
this  affair.  Thus  Monsignor  Moretti ; — and  Cardinal 
Bonpre,  reading  between  the  lines  of  his  letter,  knew  that 
the  displeasure  of  Rome  had  fallen  upon  him  as  heavily 
as  it  did  upon  the  eloquent  and  liberal-minded  Padre 
Agostino  when  he  made  the  mistake  of  asking  a  blessing 
from  Heaven  on  the  King  and  Queen  of  Italy  for  their 
works  of  charity  among  the  poor.  And  he  easily  per- 
ceived where  the  real  trouble  lay, — namely,  in  the  fact 
of  his  having  condoned  the  Abbe  Vergniaud's  public  con- 
fession. Out  of  the  one  thing  there  was  an  effort  being 
made  to  contrive  mischief  with  the  other, — and  Bonpre, 
being  too  frail  and  old  to  worry  his  brain  with  complex 
arguments  as  to  the  how  and  why  and  wherefore  of  the 
machinations  carried  on  at  the  Vatican,  resigned  himself 
to  God,  and  contenting  his  mind  with  meditation  and 
prayer,  waited  events  patiently,  caring  little  how  they 
ended  for  himself,  provided  they  did  not  involve  others  in 
any  catastrophe.  Moreover,  there  was  a  certain  consola- 
tion contained  in  his  enforced  waiting, — for  his  niece 
Angela  had  confided  to  him  that  the  work  of  her  great 


366 


The  Master-Christian. 


picture  had  advanced  more  swiftly  than  she  had  imagine^ 
possible,  and  that  it  was  likely  she  would  be  able  to  show 
it  to  her  relatives  and  private  friends  in  the  course  of  a 
week  or  so. 

"  But  Florian  must  see  it  first,"  she  said,  "  Of  course 
you  know  that !  Florian  must  always  be  first !  " 

"  Yes,"  and  the  Cardinal  stroked  her  hair  tenderly, 
while  his  eyes  rested  on  her  with  rather  a  troubled  look 
— "  Yes — of  course — Florian  first.  I  suppose  he  will  al- 
ways be  first  with  you,  Angela? — after  God?  " 

"  Always  !  "  she  answered  softly,  "  Always — after 
God !  " 

And  Felix  Bonpre  sighed — he  knew  not  why — except 
that  he  was  always  sorry  for  women  who  loved  men  with 
any  very  great  exaltation  or  devotion.  That  curiously 
tender  adoration  of  a  true  woman's  heart  which  is  so 
often  wasted  on  an  unworthy  object,  seemed  to  him  like 
lifting  a  cup  of  gold  to  a  swine's  snout.  He  found  no 
actual  fault  with  Florian  Varillo, — he  was  just  a  man  as 
men  go,  with  nothing  very  pronounced  about  him,  except 
a  genius  for  fine  mosaic-like  painting.  He  was  not  a  great 
creator,  but  he  was  a  delicate  and  careful  artist, — a  man 
against  whom  nothing  particular  could  be  said,  except 
perhaps  that  his  manner  was  often  artificial,  and  that  his 
conduct  was  not  always  sincere.  But  he  had  a  power 
of  fascinating  the  opposite  sex, — and  Angela  had  fallen 
a  willing  victim  to  his  candid  smile,  clear  eyes,  charming 
voice,  and  courteous  ways, — and  with  that  strange  incon- 
sistency so  common  to  gifted  women,  she  was  so  full  of 
"  soul  "  and  "  over-soul  "  herself,  that  she  could  not  imag- 
ine "  soul  "  lacking  in  others ; — and  never  dreamed  of 
making  herself  sure  that  it  elevated  the  character  or  tem- 
perament of  the  man  she  loved. 

"  Alas,  the  love  of  women  !  it  is  known 
To  be  a  lovely  and  a  fearful  thing  ; 
For  all  of  theirs  upon  that  die  is  thrown 
And,  if  'tis  lost,  life  hath  no  more  to  bring  !  "  * 

During  the  time  that  matters  were  thus  pending  in 
Rome,  Claude  Cazeau,  well  satisfied  with  himself,  and 
the  importance  of  being  entrusted  with  a  special  message 
from  the  Vatican  to  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  returned 

*  Byron. 


The  Master-Christian.  367 

to  the  Xormandy  capital  with  many  ambitious  specula- 
tions rife  in  his  brain,  and  schemes  for  improving  the  po- 
sition of  confidence  with  which  he  had,  by  the  merest 
chance,  and  the  fluctuations  of  the  Pope's  humour,  been 
suddenly  thrust.  He  took  the  Patoux  family  by  surprise 
on  the  evening  of  his  arrival  in  Rouen,  and  much  to  his 
secret  satisfaction  found  Martine  Doucet  in  their  com- 
pany. The  children  were  gone  to  bed,  and  the  appearance 
of  Cazeau  in  Papa  Patoux's  kitchen  was  evidently  not  al- 
together the  most  agreeable  circumstance  that  could  have 
happened  at  the  Hotel  Poitiers.  He  was  civilly  received, 
however,  and  when  he  expressed  his  pleasure  at  seeing 
Madame  Doucet  present,  that  worthy  female  lifted  her 
eyes  from  her  knitting  and  gave  him  a  suspicious  glance 
of  exceeding  disfavour. 

"  I  do  not  see  what  pleasure  my  company  can  give  you, 
Monsieur,"  she  said  curtly,  "  I  am  only  a  poor  market- 
woman  !  " 

"  But  you  have  been  singularly  favoured  by  the  pro- 
tection and  confidence  of  a  great  Cardinal, "  began 

Cazeau. 

"Protection — confidence !"  echoed  Martine  snap- 
pishly. "  Xoin  de  Jesus!  What  is  the  man  talking  about! 
I  never  set  eyes  on  the  Cardinal  in  my  life.  But  that  he 
cured  my  Fabien  is  enough  to  make  me  think  of  him  as  a 
saint  for  ever, — though  it  seems  there  are  some  that 
would  almost  make  him  out  to  be  a  devil  for  having  done 
a  good  deed !  And  ever  since  my  boy  was  cured  I  have 
lived  a  life  of  torture  and  trouble — yes,  truly! — torn  be- 
tween two  things,  our  Blessed  Lord  and  the  Church  !  But 
I  am  trying  my  best  to  keep  fast  hold  of  our  Lord,  what- 
ever the  Church  may  do  to  me !  " 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Cazeau  blandly,  turning  with  a  smile 
and  propitiatory  air  to  Patoux  who  sat  silently  smoking, 

"  Madame  Doucet  seems  a  little what  shall  we  say? 

— unduly  excited?  Yet  surely  the  recovery  of  her  child 
should  fill  her  with  thanksgiving  and  make  her  a  faith- 
ful and  devout  servant ' 

"  Pardon,  Monsieur,"  interrupted  Madame  Patoux, 
"  Believe  me,  Martine  is  thankful  enough,  and  devout 
enough. — but  truly  it  has  been  very  hard  for  her  to  suffer 
the  things  that  have  been  said  to  her  of  late, — how  that 
the  child  could  never  have  been  really  crippled  at  all,  but 


368  The  Master-Christian. 

simply  shamming, — how  that  it  was  all  a  trick  got  up  be- 
tween herself  and  the  priests  for  the  purpose  of  bringing 
visitors  and  their  money  to  Rouen, — for  of  course  since 
the  miracle  was  noised  abroad  there  have  been  many  pil- 
grimages to  Notre  Dame,  it  having  got  about  that  there 
was  some  mysterious  spirit  or  angel  in  one  of  the  shrines, 
— for  look  you,  our  Archbishop,  when  he  came  to  visit  the 
Cardinal  here  in  this  very  hotel,  distinctly  remembers  that 
His  Eminence  assured  him  he  had  heard  strange  music 
in  the  Cathedral,  when  truly  there  was  no  organ  unlocked, 
and  no  organist  on  duty, — and  then  there  was  something 
about  the  boy  that  His  Eminence  found  lost  that 
night 

"  Stop !  Stop !  "  said  Cazeau,  growing  impatient, 
"  Your  eloquence  is  so  impressive,  Madame,  and  you  say 
so  much  that  is  excellent  in  one  breath,  that  you  must 
pardon  my  inferior  capacity  in  not  being  able  to  follow 
you  quite  coherently !  There  are  conflicting  statements, 
you  say " 

"  No,  there  are  none,"  said  Patoux  himself,  drawing 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  slowly,  and  looking  intently  at 
its  well-sucked  stem — "  It  is  all  the  same  sort  of  thing. 
A  child  is  sick — a  child  is  cured — and  it  is  either  God  or 
the  Devil  who  has  done  it.  Some  people  prefer  to  think 
it  is  the  Devil, — some  give  the  praise  to  God.  It  was  ex- 
actly like  that  whenever  our  Lord  did  a  good  deed.  Half 
the  folks  said  he  was  Go'd, — the  other  half  that  he  had  a 
devil.  Jerusalen  was  like  Rouen,  Rouen  is  like  Jerusa- 
lem. Jerusalem  was  ancient  and  wicked ;  Rouen  is  mod- 
ern and  wickeder, — that's  all !  As  for  music  in  the 
church,  we  have  only  the  Archbishop's  warrant  that  the 
Cardinal  ever  said  anything  about  hearing  music." 

'  Only '  the  Archbishop's  warrant !  "  echoed  Cazeau 
meaningly. 

"  I  said  '  only  ',  Monsieur ! — Make  the  best  of  it !  "  an- 
swered Patoux,  sticking  his  pipe  into  his  mouth  again,  and 
resuming  his  smoke  with  undisturbed  tranquillity. 

Cazeau  hummed  and  hawed, — he  was  irritated  yet 
vaguely  amused  too  at  the  singular  self-assertion  of  these 
common  folk  who  presumed  to  take  their  moral  meas- 
urement of  an  Archbishop !  It  is  a  strange  fact,  but  these 
same  common  folk  always  do  take  these  sorts  of  meas- 
urements. 


The  Master-Christian.  369 

"  The  inconsistencies — (if  there  are  any — )  in  the  story 
will  soon  be  cleared  up,"  he  said,  with  a  benevolent  as- 
sumption of  authority,  "  At  least,  I  hope  so !  I  am  glad 
to  say  that  I  am  entrusted  with  a  message  to  the  Arch 
bishop  from  our  Holy  Father,  the  Pope, — and  I  havt 
also  His  Holiness's  instructions  to  request  you,  Madame 
Doucet,  together  with  your  son  Fabien,  to  accompany 
me  back  to  Rome !  " 

.Mar tine  Doucet  bounced  up  from  her  chair,  and  let  fall 
her  knitting. 

"Me — me!"  she  cried,  "Me  go  to  Rome!  Never! 
Wild  horses  will  not  drag  me  there,  nor  shall  you  take 
my  Fabien  either !  What  should  I  do  in  Rome  ?  " 

'  Testify  personally  to  the  truth  of  the  Cardinal's  mir- 
acle," answered  Cazeau,  gazing  coldly  at  her  excited  face 
as  though  he  saw  something  altogether  strange  and  re- 
moved from  human  semblance.  "  And  bring  your  child 
into  the  Holy  Presence  and  relate  his  history.  It  will  be 
nothing  but  an  advantage  to  you, — for  you  will  obtain 
a  patient  hearing,  and  the  priceless  boon  of  the  Papal 
benediction !  " 

"  Grand  merci! "  said  Martine,  "  But  I  have  lived  more 
than  half  my  time  without  the  Papal  benediction,  and  I 
can  work  out  the  rest  of  my  days  in  the  same  way !  Look 
you ! — there  is  a  great  English  Duke  I  am  told,  who  has 
an  only  son  sorely  afflicted,  and  he  has  taken  this  son  to 
every  place  in  the  world  where  the  Church  is  supposed 
to  work  miracles  for  the  healing  of  the  sick  and  the  help- 
less,— all  to  no  use,  for  the  poor  boy  is  as  sick  and  help- 
less as  ever.  How  is  that  ?  What  has  the  Papal  benedic- 
tion done  for  him  ?  " 

"  Woman,  your  tongue  overrules  your  senses!"  said 
Cazeau,  with  rising  temper,  "  You  rail  against  the  Church 
like  an  ungrateful  heathen,  even  though  you  owe  your 
son's  recovery  to  the  Church !  For  what  is  Cardinal 
'Bonpre  but  a  Prince  of  the  Church  ?  " 

Martine  stuck  her  arms  akimbo,  and  surveyed  him  dis- 
dainfully. 

"  Oh-he!"  she  cried,  "  My  tongue  overrules  my  senses, 
Monsieur  Claude  Cazeau !  Take  care  that  your  cunning 
does  not  overrule  yourself!  Did  I  ever  deny  the  worth 
and  the  goodness  of  Cardinal  Bonpre  ?  Though  if  I  were 
to  speak  the  whole  truth,  and  if  I  were  to  believe  the 


370  The  Master-Christian. 

nonsense-talk  of  a  child,  I  should  perhaps  give  the  credit 
of  the  miracle  to  the  stray  boy  whom  the  Cardinal  found 

outside  the  Cathedral  door "  Cazeau  started — "  For 

Fabien  says  that  he  began  to  feel  strong  the  moment  that 
little  lad  touched  him !  " 

"  The  boy !  "  exclaimed  Cazeau — "  The  boy !  " 

A  curious  silence  ensued.  Jean  Patoux  lifting  his 
drowsy  eyes  gazed  fixedly  at  the  whitewashed  ceiling, — 
Madame,  his  wife,  stood  beside  him  watching  the  changes 
on  Cazeau's  yellow  face — and  Martine  sat  down  to  take 
breath  after  her  voluble  outburst. 

"  The  boy ! "  muttered  Cazeau  again then  he 

broke  into  a  harsh  laugh. 

"  What  folly !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  As  if  a  little  tramp  of 
the  streets  could  have  anything  to  do  with  a  Church 
miracle !  Martine  Doucet,  if  you  were  to  say  such  a 
thing  at  the  Vatican 

"  I  have  not  said  it,"  said  Martine  angrily,  "  I  only 
told  you  what  my  Fabien  says.  I  am  not  answerable  for 
the  thoughts  of  the  child !  That  he  is  well  and  strong — 
that  he  has  the  look  and  the  soul  of  an  angel,  is  enough 
for  me  to  praise  God  all  my  life.  But  I  shall  never  say 
the  Laus  Deo  at  the  Vatican, — you  will  have  no  chance  to 
trap  me  in  that  way !  " 

Cazeau  stared  at  her  haughtily. 

"  You  must  be  mad !  "  he  said,  "  No  one  wishes  to 
'  trap  '  you,  as  you  express  it !  The  miracle  of  healing 
performed  on  your  child  is  a  very  remarkable  one, — it 
should  not  be  any  surprise  to  you  that  the  Head  of  the 
Church  seeks  to  know  all  the  details  of  it  thoroughly,  in 
order  to  ratify  and  confirm  it,  and  perhaps  bestow  new 
honour  on  the  eminent  Cardinal — 

"  I  rather  doubt  that !  "  interposed  Patoux  slowly,  "  For 
I  gather  from  our  Archbishop  that  the  Holy  Father  was 
suspicious  of  some  trick  rather  than  an  excess  of  sanc- 
tity!" 

Cazeau  reddened  through  his  pallid  skin. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  that !  "  he  said  curtly,  "  But  mv 
orders  are  imperative,  and  I  shall  seek  the  assistance  of 
the  Archbishop  to  enforce  and  carry  them  out !  For  the 
moment  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  good-night,  Mon- 
sieur Patoux ! — and  you  also,  Mesdames  !  " 

And  he  departed  abruptly,  in  an  anger  which  he  was  at 


The  Master-Christian.  371 

no  pains  to  disguise.  Personally  he  cared  nothing  about 
the  miracle  or  how  it  had  been  accomplished,  but  he  cared 
very  much  for  his  own  advancement, — and  he  saw,  or 
thought  he  saw,  a  chance  of  very  greatly  improving  his 
position  among  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  if  he  only 
kept  a  cool  head  and  a  clear  mind.  He  recognised  that 
there  was  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  Pope  to  place  Car- 
dinal Bonpre  under  close  observance  and  restraint  on 
account  of  his  having  condoned  the  Abbe  Vergniaud's 
confession  to  his  congregation  in  Paris ;  and  he  rightly 
judged  that  anything  he  could  do  to  aid  the  accomplish- 
ment of  that  end  would  not  be  without  its  reward.  And 
the  few  words  which  Martine  Doucet  had  let  drop  con- 
cerning the  stray  boy  who  now  lived  under  the  Cardinal's 
protection,  had  given  him  a  new  idea  which  he  resolved 
to  act  upon  when  he  returned  to  Rome.  For  it  was  surely 
very  strange  that  an  eminent  Prince  of  the  Church  should 
allow  himself  to  be  constantly  attended  by  a  little  tramp 
rescued  from  the  street !  There  was  something  in  it  more 
than  common, — and  Cazeau  decided  that  he  would  sug- 
gest a  close  enquiry  being  made  on  this  point. 

Crossing  the  square  opposite  the  Hotel  Poitiers,  he  hes- 
itated before  turning  the  corner  of  the  street  which  led  to- 
wards the  avenue  where  the  Archbishop's  house  was  sit- 
uated. The  night  was  fine  and  calm — the  air  singularly 
balmy, — and  he  suddenly  decided  to  take  a  stroll  by  the 
river  before  finally  returning  to  his  rooms  for  the  night. 
There  is  one  very  quiet  bit  of  the  Seine  in  Rouen  where 
the  water  flows  between  unspoilt  grassy  banks,  which  in 
summer  are  a  frequent  resort  for  lovers  to  dream  the 
dreams  which  so  often  come  to  nothing, — and  here 
Cazeau  betook  himself  to  smoke  and  meditate  on  the  bril- 
liancy of  his  future  prospects.  The  river  had  been  high 
in  flood  during  the  week,  and  the  grass  which  sloped 
towards  the  water  was  still  wet,  and  heavy  to  the  tread. 
But  Cazeau  limited  his  walk  to  the  broad  summit  of  the 
bank,  being  aware  that  the  river  just  below  flowed  over 
"a  muddy  quicksand,  into  which,  should  a  man  chance  to 
fall,  it  would  be  death  and  fast  burial  at  one  and  the  same 
moment.  And  Cazeau  set  a  rather  exorbitant  value  on 
his  own  life,  as  most  men  do  whose  lives  are  of  no  sort 
of  consequence  to  the  world.  So  he  was  careful  to  walk- 
where  there  was  the  least  danger  of  slipping, — and  as  he 


372  The  Master-Christian. 

lit  an  excellent  cigar,  and  puffed  the  faint  blue  rings  of 
smoke  out  into  the  clear  moonlit  atmosphere,  he  was  in  a 
very  agreeable  frame  of  mind.  He  was  crafty  and  clever 
in  his  way, — ^ne  of  those  to  whom  the  Yankee  term 
"  cute  "  would  apply  in  its  fullest  sense, — and  he  had  the 
happy  knack  of  forgetting  his  own  mistakes  and  follies, 
and  excusing  his  own  sins  with  as  much  ease  as  though 
he  were  one  of  the  "  blood-royal "  of  nations.  Vices  he 
had  in  plenty  in  common  with  most  men, — except  that 
his  particular  form  of  licentiousness  was  distinguished 
by  a  callousness  and  cruelty  in  which  there  was  no  touch 
of  redeeming  quality.  As  a  child  he  had  loved  to  tear  the 
wings  off  flies  and  other  insects,  and  one  of  his  keenest 
delights  in  boyhood  had  been  to  watch  the  writhings  of 
frogs  into  whose  soft  bodies  he  would  stick  long  pins, — 
the  frogs  would  live  under  this  treatment  four  and  five 
hours — sometimes  longer,  and  while  observing  their 
agonies  he  enjoyed  "  that  contented  mind  which  is  a  per- 
petual feast."  Now  that  he  was  a  man,  he  delighted  in 
torturing  human  beings  after  the  same  methods  applied 
mentally,  whenever  he  could  find  a  vulnerable  part  through 
which  to  thrust  a  sharp  spear  of  pain. 

"  The  eminent  Cardinal  Bonpre ! "  he  mused  now, 
"  What  is  he  to  me !  If  I  could  force  the  Archbishop  of 
Rouen  into  high  favour  at  the  Vatican  instead  of  this 
foolish  old  Saint  Felix,  it  would  be  a  better  thing  for  my 
future.  After  all,  it  was  at  Rouen  that  the  miracle- was 
performed — the  city  should  have  some  credit !  And  Bon- 
pre has  condoned  a  heretic  ...  he  is  growing  old  and 
feeble — possibly  he  is  losing  his  wits.  And  then  there  is 
that  boy  .  .  .  '' 

He  started  violently  as  a  fantastic  shadow  suddenly 
crossed  his  path  in  the  moonlight,  and  a  peal  of  violent 
laughter  assailed  his  ears. 

"Enfin!  Toi,  mon  Claude! — enfin! — Grace  a  Dieu! 
Enfin ! " 

And  the  crazed  creature,  known  as  Marguerite,  "  La 
Folle  ",  stood  before  him,  her  long  black  hair  streaming 
over  her  bare  chest  and  gaunt  arms,  her  eyes  dilated,  and 
glowing  with  the  mingled  light  of  madness  and  despair. 

Cazeau  turned  a  livid  white  in  the  moon-rays ; — his 
blood  grew  icy  cold.  What !  After  two  years  of  dodging 
about  the  streets  of  Rouen  to  avoid  meeting  this  wretched 


The  Master-Christian.  373 

woman  whom  he  had  tricked  and  betrayed,  had  she  found 
him  at  last ! 

"  When  did  you  come  back  from  the  fair  ?  "  cried  the 
girl  shrilly,  "  I  lost  you  there,  you  know — and  you  man- 
aged to  lose  me — but  I  have  waited! — waited  patiently 
for  news  of  you !  .  .  .  an,d  when  none  came,  I  still  waited, 
making  myself  beautiful !  .  .  .  see ! — "  And  she  thrust 
her  fingers  through  her  long  hair,  throwing  it  about  in 
wilder  disorder  than  ever.  "  You  thought  you  had  killed 
me — and  you  were  glad! — it  makes  all  men  glad  to  kill 
women  when  they  can !  But  I — I  was  not  killed  so  easily, 

— I  have  lived  ! for  this  night — just  for  this  night ! 

Listen !  "  and  she  sprang  forward  and  threw  herself  vio- 
lently against  his  breast,  "  Do  you  love  me  now  ?  Tell  me 
again — as  you  told  me  at  the  fair — you  love  me  ?  " 

He  staggered  under  her  weight — and  tried  for  a  mo- 
ment to  thrust  her  back,  but  she  held  him  in  a  grip  of 
iron,  looking  up  at  him  with  her  great  feverish  dark  eyes, 
and  grasping  his  shoulders  with  thin  burning  hands.  He 
trembled ; — he  was  beginning  to  grow  horribly  afraid. 
What  devil  had  sent  this  woman  whom  he  had  ruined  so 
long  as  two  years  ago,  across  his  path  to-night  ?  Would  it 
be  possible  to  soothe  her? 

"  Marguerite — "  he  began. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Marguerite !  Say  it  again !  "  she  cried 
wildly,  "  Marguerite !  Say  it  again !  Sweet — sweet  and 
tenderly  as  you  said  it  then !  Poor  Marguerite !  Your 
pale  ugly  face  seemed  the  face  of  a  god  to  her  once,  be- 
cause she  thought  you  loved  her — we  all  find  men  so 
beautiful  when  we  think  they  love  us!  Yes — your  cold 
eyes  and  cruel  lips  and  hard  brow ! — it  was  quite  a  differ- 
ent face  at  the  fair !  So  was  mine  a  different  face — but 
you! — you  have  made  mine  what  it  is  now! — look  at  it! 
What ! — you  thought  you  could  murder  a  woman  and 
never  be  found  out !  You  thought  you  could  kill  poor 
Marguerite,  and  that  no  one  would  ever  know " 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  said  Cazeau,  his  teeth  chattering  with 
the  cold  of  his  inward  terror,  "  I  never  killed  you,  Mar- 
guerite ! — I  loved  you — yes,  listen !  "  For  she  was  look- 
ing up  at  him  with  an  attentive,  almost  sane  expression 
in  her  eyes.  "  I  meant  to  write  to  you  after  the  fair, — 
and  come  to  you  .  .  .  " 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  said  the  girl,  "  Let  me  hear  this !— 


374  The  Master-Christian. 

this  is  strange  news !  He  meant  to  write  to  me yet 

he  let  me  die  by  inches  in  an  agony  of  waiting! — till  I 
dropped  into  the  darkness  where  I  am  now !  He  meant 

to  come  to  me oh,  it  was  very  easy  to  come  if  he  had 

chosen  to  come, — before  1  wandered  away  into  all  this 
strangeness — this  shadow — this  confusion  and  fire !  But 
you  see,  it  is  too  late  now,"  and  she  began  to  laugh  again, 
''  Too  late !  I  have  a  strange  idea  that  I  am  dead,  though 
I  seem  alive — I  am  in  my  grave ;  and  so  you  must  die  also 
and  be  buried  with  me!  Yes,  you  must  certainly  die!— 
when  one  is  cruel  and  false  and  treacherous  one  is  not 
wanted  in  the  world ! — better  to  go  out  of  it — and  it  is 
quite  easy, — see ! — this  way ! — 

And  before  he  realised  her  intention  she  sprang  back 
a  step — then  drew  a  knife  from  her  bosom,  and  with  a 
sort  of  exultant  shriek,  stabbed  him  furiously  once — 

twice thrice  .  .  .  crying  out 'This  for  your  lie! 

This  for  my  sorrow ! — This  for  your  love ! — 

Reeling  back  with  the  agony  of  her  murderous  blows 
he  made  a  fierce  effort  to  tear  the  knife  from  her  hands, 
but  she  suddenly  threw  it  a  long  way  from  her  towards 
the  river,  where  it  fell  with  a  light  splash,  and  rushing  at 
him  twined  her  arms  close  about  his  neck,  while  her  mad 
laughter,  piercing  and  terrible,  rang  out  through  the 
quiet  air. 

'''  Together !  "  she  said,  "  That  day  at  the  fair  we  were 

together,  and  now we  shall  be  together  again  !  Come ! 

— Come !  I  have  waited  long  enough  ! your  promised 

letter  never  came you  have  kept  me  waiting  a  long 

long  while but  now  I  will  wait  no  longer !  I  have 

found  you ! — I  will  never  let  you  go !  " 

Furiously,  despite  his  wounds,  he  fought  with  her, — 
tried  to  thrust  her  away  from  him, — and  beat  her  back- 
wards and  downwards, — but  she  had  the  strength  of  ten 
women  in  her  maddened  frame,  and  she  clung  to  him  with 
the  tenacity  of  some  savage  beast.  All  around  them  was 
perfectly  quiet, — there  was  not  a  soul  in  sight, — there  was 
no  place  near  where  a  shout  for  help  could  have  been 
heard.  Struggling  still,  dizzy,  blind  and  breathless,  he 
did  not  see  that  they  were  nearing  the  edge  of  the  slippery 
bank — all  his  efforts  were  concentrated  in  an  endeavour 
to  shake  off  the  infuriated  creature,  made  more  powerful 
in  her  very  madness  by  the  just  sense  of  her  burning 


The  Master-Christian.  375 

wrong  -and  his  callous  treachery when  all  at  once  his 

foot  slipped  and  he  fell  to  the  ground.  She  pounced  on 
him  like  a  tigress,  and  fastened  her  fingers  on  his  throat, — 
clutching  his  flesh  and  breathlessly  muttering,  "  Xever ! 

never!     Never  can  you   hide  away   from  me  any 

more !  Together — together !  I  will  never  let  you  go ! — " 
till,  as  his  eyes  rolled  up  in  agony  and  his  jaw  relaxed, 
she  uttered  a  shout  of  ecstasy  to  see  him  die!  He  sank 
heavily  under  her  fierce  grasp  which  she  never  relaxed 
for  an  instant,  and  his  dead  weight  dragged  her  uncon- 
sciously down — down  ! — she  not  heeding  or  knowing 
whither  she  was  moving, — down — still  down ! — till,  as  she 
clung  to  his  inert  body,  madly  determining  not  to  let  it  go, 
she  fell, — fast  grappling  her  betrayer's  corpse, — into  the 
ominous  stillness  of  the  river.  The  flood  opened,  as  it 
were,  to  receive  the  two, — the  dead  and  the  living — there 
was  a  slight  ripple  as  though  a  mouth  in  the  water  smiled 
— then  the  usual  calm  surface  reflected  the  moon  once 
more,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  trouble.  Nothing  strug- 
gled,— nothing  floated, — all  was  perfectly  tranquil.  The 
bells  chimed  from  all  the  churches  in  the  city  a  quarter  to 
midnight,  and  their  pretty  echoes  were  wafted  across  the 
water, — no  other  sound  disturbed  the  silence, — not  a 
trace  of  the  struggle  was  left,  save  just  one  smeared 
track  of  grass  and  slime,  which,  if  examined  carefully, 
might  have  been  found  sprinkled  with  blood.  But  with 
the  morning  the  earth  would  have  swallowed  those  drops 
of  human  life  as  silently  as  the  river-quicksand  had  sucked 
down  the  bodies  of  the  betrayed  and  the  betrayer; — in 
neither  case  would  Nature  have  any  hint  to  give  of  the 
tragedy  enacted.  Nature  is  a  dumb  witness  to  many 
dramas, — and  it  may  be  that  she  has  eyes  and  ears  and 
her  own  way  of  keeping  records.  Sometimes  she  gives  up 
long-buried  secrets,  sometimes  she  holds  them  fast ; — 
biding  her  time  until  the  Judgment  Day,  when  not  only 
the  crime  shall  be  disclosed  but  the  Cause  of  the  crime's 
committal.  And  it  may  chance  in  certain  cases,  such  as 
those  of  men  who  have  deliberately  ruined  the  lives  of 
trusting  and  loving  women,  that  the  Cause  may  be  proved 
a  more  criminal  thing  than  the  crime  ! 

That  night  Martine  Doucet  slept  badly,  and  had  horri- 
ble dreams  of  being  dragged  by  force  to  Rome,  and  there 
taken  before  the  Pope  who  at  once  deprived  her  of  her 


376 


The  Master-Christian. 


son  Fabien,  and  ordered  her  to  be  shot  in  one  of  the  pub- 
lic squares  for  neglecting  to  attend  Mass  regularly.  Arid 
Jean  Patoux  and  his  wife,  reposing  on  their  virtuous 
marital  couch,  conversed  a  long  time  about  the  unex- 
pected and  unwelcome  visit  of  Claude  Cazeau,  and  the 
mission  he  had  declared  himself  entrusted  with  from  the 
Vatican, — "  And  you  may  depend  upon  it,"  said  Madame 
sententiously,  "  that  he  will  get  his  way  by  fair  means  or 
foul !  I  am  thankful  that  neither  of  our  children  were 
subjects  for  a  Church-miracle ! — the  trouble  of  the  remedy 
seems  more  troublesome  than  the  sickness !  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  her  husband,  "  Thou  dost  not  judge 
these  things  rightly,  my  little  one !  God  worked  the 
remedy,  as  He  works  all  good  things, — and  there  would 
be  no  trouble  about  it  if  it  were  not  for  the  men's  strange 
way  of  taking  it.  Did  ever  our  Lord  do  a  good  or  a  kind 
deed  without  being  calumniated  for  it  ?  Did  not  all  those 
men- fools  in  Jerusalem  go  about  '  secretly  seeking  how 
they  might  betray  him  '  ?  That  is  a  lesson  for  us  all, — 
and  never  forget,  petite,  that  for  showing  them  the 
straight  way  to  Heaven  He  was  crucified !  " 

The  next  day  a  telegram  was  despatched  from  the 
Archbishop  of  Rouen  to  Monsignor  Moretti  at  the  Vat- 
ican : — 

"  Claude  Cazeau  visited  Hotel  Poitiers  last  night,  but 
has  since  mysteriously  disappeared.  Every  search  and 
enquiry  being  made.  Strongly  suspect  foul  play." 


XXVI. 

NOVEMBER  was  now  drawing  to  a  close,  and  St.  Cecilia's 
Day  dawned  in  a  misty  sunrise,  half  cloud,  half  light,  like 
smoke  and  flame  intermingled.  Aubrey  Leigh,  on  wak- 
ing that  morning,  had  almost  decided  to  leave  Rome  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  month.  He  had  learned  all  that  was 
necessary  for  him  to  know ; — he  had  not  come  to  study 
the  antiquities,  or  the  dark  memories  of  dead  empires, 
for  he  would  have  needed  to  live  at  least  ten  years  in  the 
city  to  gain  even  a  surface  knowledge  of  all  the  Romes> 
built  one  upon  another,  in  the  Rome  of  to-day.  His  main 
object  had  been  to  discover  whether  the  Holy  See  existed 
as  a  grand  and  pure  institution  for  the  uplifting  and  the 
saving  of  the  souls  of  men  ;  or  whether  it  had  degenerated 
into  an  unscrupulous  scheme  for  drawing  the  money  out 
of  their  pockets.  He  had  searched  this  problem  and 
solved  it.  He  had  perceived  the  trickery,  the  dissimula- 
tion and  hypocrisy  of  Roman  priestcraft.  He  had  seen 
the  Pope  officiate  at  High  Mass  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
having  procured  the  "  introduction  from  very  high  quar- 
ters "  which,  even  according  to  ordinary  guide-books,  is. 
absolutely  necessary, — the  "  high  quarters  "  in  this  in- 
stance being  MonsignorGherardi.  Apart  from  this  absurd- 
ity,— this  impious  idea  of  needing  an  "  introduction  "  to- 
a  sacred  service  professedly  held  for  the  worship  of  the 
Divine,  by  the  Representative  of  Christ  on  earth,  he  had 
watched  with  sickening  soul  all  the  tawdry  ceremonial 
so  far  removed  from  the  simplicity  of  Christ's  commands, 
— he  had  stared  dully,  till  his  brows  ached,  at  the  poor, 
feeble,  scraggy  old  man  with  the  pale,  withered  face  and 
dark  eyes,  who  was  chosen  to  represent  a  "  Manifestation 
of  the  Deity  "  to  his  idolatrous  followers ; — and  as  he 
thought  of  all  the  poverty,  sorrow,  pain,  perplexity,  and 
bewilderment  of  the  "  lost  sheep  "  who  were  wandering 
to  and  fro  in  the  world,  scarcely  able  to  fight  the  difficul- 
ties of  their  daily  lot,  and  unable  to  believe  in  God  be- 
cause thev  were  never  allowed  to  understand  or  to  ex- 


378 


The  Master-Christian. 


perience  any  of  His  goodness,  such  a  passion  of  protest 
arose  in  him,  that  he  could  have  sprung  on  the  very  steps 
of  the  altar  and  cried  aloud  to  the  aged  Manager  of  the 
Stage-scene  there,  "  Away  with  this  sham  of  Christian- 
ity !  Give  us  the  true  message  of  Christ,  undefiled !  Sell 
these  useless  broidered  silks, — these  flaunting  banners; — 
take  the  silver,  gold,  and  bank-notes  which  hysterical  pil- 
grims cast  at  your  feet ! — this  Peter's  Pence,  amounting  to 
millions,  whose  exact  total  you  alone  know, — and  come 
out  into  the  highways  and  byways  of  the  cities  of  all 
lands, — call  to  you  the  lame,  the  halt,  the  blind,  the  sickly, 
and  diseased, — give  comfort  where  comfort  is  needed, — 
defend  the  innocent — protect  the  just,  and  silence  the 
Voce  de  la  Verita  which  published  under  your  authority, 
callously  advocates  murder !  " 

And  though  he  felt  all  this,  he  could  only  remain  a 
dumb  spectator  of  the  Show  in  which  not  the  faintest 
shadow  of  Christianity  according  to  Christ,  appeared — 
and  when  the  theatrical  pageant  was  over,  he  hurried  out 
into  the  fresh  air  half  stupefied  with  the  heavy  sense  of 
shame  that  such  things  could  be,  and  no  man  found  true 
enough  to  the  commands  of  the  Divine  Master  to  shake 
the  world  with  strong  condemnation. 

"  Twelve  fishermen  were  enough  to  preach  the  Gospel," 
he  thought,  "  Yet  now  there  cannot  be  found  twelve 
faithful  souls  who  will  protest  against  its  falsification !  " 

And  on  St.  Cecilia's  morning  he  was  in  sad  and  sober 
mood, — too  vexed  with  himself  to  contemplate  his  future 
work  without  a  sense  of  pain  and  disappointment  and 
loneliness.  He  loved  Sylvie  Hermenstein,  and  admitted 
his  passion  for  her  frankly  to  his  own  soul,  but  at  the 
same  time  felt  that  a  union  with  her  would  be  impossible. 
He  had  seen  her  nearly  every  day  since  their  first  intro- 
duction to  each  other,  and  had  realised  to  the  height  of 
soul-intoxication  the  subtle  charm  of  her  delicate  beauty, 
and  the  sweetness  of  her  disposition.  But — (there  was 
a  but  in  it, — there  always  is!)  he  was  not  sure  of  her 
constancy.  The  duel  between  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  and 
the  actor  Miraudin  had  furnished  food  for  gossip  at  all  the 
social  gatherings  in  Rome,  and  Sylvie's  name,  freely  men- 
tioned as  the  cause  of  the  dispute,  had  been  thus  given  an 
unpleasant  notoriety.  And  though  Aubrey  Leigh  was 
far  too  chivalrous  and  noble-natured  to  judge  and  con- 


The  Master-Christian.  379 

demn  a  woman  without  seeking  for  the  truth  from  her 
own  lips,  he  was  indescribably  annoyed  to  hear  her  spoken 
of  in  any  connection  with  the  late  Marquis.  He  had  a 
strong  desire  to  ask  Angela  Sovrani  a  few  questions  con- 
cerning the  affair,  but  hesitated,  lest  his  keen  personal 
anxiety  should  betray  the  depth  of  his  feelings.  Then, 
too,  he  was  troubled  by  the  fact  that  the  Hermenstein 
family  had  been  from  time  immemorial  devout  Roman- 
ists, and  he  felt  that  Sylvie  must  perforce  be  a  firm  ad- 
herent to  that  faith. 

"  Better  to  leave  Rome !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  Better 
to  shake  off  the  witchery  of  her  presence,  and  get  back 
to  England  and  to  work.  And  if  I  cannot  kill  or  quell 
this  love  in  me,  at  any  rate  it  shall  serve  me  to  good  pur- 
pose,— it  shall  make  me  a  better  and  a  braver  man !  " 

He  had  promised  to  meet  the  Princesse  D'Agramont 
that  morning  at  the  Catacombs  of  St.  Callistus,  to  see  the 
illumination  of  the  tomb  of  St.  Cecilia,  which  takes  place 
there  annually  on  the  Saint's  Feast-Day,  and  he  knew 
that  Angela  Sovrani  and  the  Comtesse  Hermenstein  were 
to  be  of  the  Princesse's  party.  He  was  somewhat  late  in 
starting,  and  hired  a  fiacre  to  drive  him  along  the  Via 
Appia  to  his  destination,  but  when  he  arrived  there  Mass 
had  already  commenced.  A  Trappist  monk,  tall  and  grim 
and  forbidding  of  aspect,  met  him  at  the  entrance  to  the 
Catacombs  with  a  lighted  taper,  and  escorted  him  in 
silence  through  the  gloomy  "  Oratorium  "  and  passage  of 
tombs, — the  torch  he  carried  flinging  ghastly  reflections 
on  the  mural  paintings  and  inscriptions,  till,  on  reaching 
the  tomb  of  St.  Cecilia  where  the  murdered  saint  once 
lay,  though  her  remains  are  now  enshrined  in  the  Church 
of  St.  Cecilia  in  Trastevere,  the  Trappist  suddenly  left 
him  at  a  corner  to  attend  to  other  incoming  visitors,  and 
disappeared.  Aubrey  looked  around  him,  vaguely 
touched  and  awed  by  the  solemnity  of  the  scene ; — the 
damp  walls  on  which  old  Byzantine  paintings  of  the 
seventh  century  were  still  visible,  though  crumbling 
fast  away, — the  glimmering  lights, — the  little  crowd  of 
people  pressed  together, — the  brilliantly  illuminated  altar, 
— the  droning  accents  of  the  officiating  priests ; — and 
presently  the  sound  of  a  boy's  exquisite  young  voice  rose 
high  and  pure,  singing  the  Agnus  Dei.  St.  Cecilia  her- 
self might  have  been  enraptured  by  such  sweet  harmony, 


380  The  Master-Christian. 

— and  Aubrey  Leigh  instinctively  bent  his  head,  moved 
strongly  by  the  holy  and  tender  fervour  of  the  anthem. 
Growing  accustomed  to  the  flickering  lights,  he  presently 
perceived  the  Princesse  D'Agramont  a  little  in  front  of 
him, — and  beside  her  were  her  two  friends,  Angela  So- 
vrani  and  Sylvie  Hermenstein.  Sylvie  was  kneeling,  and 
her  face  was  hidden.  Angela  was  seated, — and  her  eyes, 
full  of  the  radiance  of  thought  and  dreaming  genius, 
were  fixed  on  the  altar.  Gradually  he  moved  up  till  he 
reached  the  rough  bench  where  they  were  all  together, — 
the  Princesse  D'Agramont  saw  him  at  once,  and  signed 
to  him  to  take  a  vacant  place  next  to  Sylvie.  He  sat 
down  very  gently — afraid  to  disturb  the  graceful  figure 
kneeling  within  touch  of  his  hand — how  devout  she 
seemed,  he  thought !  But  as  the  Agnus  Dei  ceased,  she 
stirred,  and  rose  quietly, — as  quietly  as  a  bent  flower 
might  lift  itself  in  the  grass  after  the  rush  of  the  wind, — 
and  gave  him  a  gentle  salute,  then  sat  down  beside  him, 
drooping  her  soft  eyes  over  her  prayer-book,  but  not  be- 
fore he  had  seen  that  they  were  wet  with  tears.  Was  she 
unhappy  he  wondered  ?  It  seemed  impossible !  Such  a 
woman  could  never  be  unhappy!  With  beauty,  health, 
and  a  sunny  temperament, — wealth  and  independence, 
what  could  she  know  of  sorrow !  It  is  strange  how  sel- 
dom a  man  can  enter  into  the  true  comprehension  of  a 
woman's  grief,  though  he  may  often  be  the  cause  of  the 
trouble.  A  woman,  if  endowed  with  beauty  and  charm, 
ought  never,  in  a  man's  opinion,  to  look  sad,  whatever 
she  may  feel.  It  is  her  business  to  smile,  and  shine  like 
a  sunbeam  on  a  spring  morning  for  his  delectation  always. 
And  Aubrey  Leigh,  though  he  could  thoroughly  appre- 
ciate and  enter  into  the  sordid  woes  of  hard-worked  and 
poverty-stricken  womankind,  was  not  without  the  same 
delusion  that  seems  to  possess  all  his  sex, — namely,  that 
if  a  woman  is  brilliantly  endowed,  and  has  sufficient  of 
this  world's  goods  to  ensure  her  plenty  of  friends  and 
pretty  toilettes,  she  need  never  be  unhappy.  Sylvie's 
tears  were  therefore  a  mystery  to  him,  except  when  a 
jealous  pang  contracted  his  generally  liberal  and  tender 
soul,  and  he  thought,  "  Perhaps  she  is  grieving  for  the 
Marquis  Fontenelle ! "  He  glanced  at  her  every  now 
and  again  dubiously, — while  the  service  went  on,  and  the 
exquisite  music  beat  rhythmic  waves  against  the  ancient 


The  Master-Christian.  381 

walls  and  roof  of  the  murdered  Saint's  tomb, — but  her 
face,  fair  and  childlike,  was  a  puzzle  to  his  mind, — he 
could  never  make  out  from  its  expression  whether  she 
were  thoughtful  or  frivolous.  Strange  mistakes  are  often 
made  in  physiognomy.  Often  the  so-called  "  intel- 
lectual "  face, — the  "  touch-me-not  "  dignity — the 
"  stalking-tragedy  "  manner,  covers  a  total  lack  of  brain, 
— and  often  a  large- featured,  seemingly  "  noble  "  face, 
has  served  as  a  mask  for  untold  depths  of  villainy.  The 
delicate,  small  face  of  Nelson  suggested  nothing  of  the 
giant  heroism  in  his  nature,  and  many  a  pretty,  and  ap- 
parently frivolous  woman's  face,  which  suggests  nothing 
but  the  most  thoughtless  gaiety,  is  a  disguise  for  a  strong 
nature  capable  of  lofty  and  self-sacrificing  deeds.  There 
is  nothing  likely  to  be  so  deceptive  as  a  human  counte- 
nance,— for  with  the  exception  of  a  few  uncomfortably 
sincere  persons,  we  all  try  to  make  it  disguise  our  feel- 
ings as  much  as  we  can. 

The  service  concluded,  and  St.  Cecilia  solemnly  com- 
mended once  more  to  her  eternal  rest,  the  people  all  rose 
and  wandered  like  black  ghosts,  through  the  darkness  of 
the  Catacombs,  following  the  flicker  of  the  torches  car- 
ried by  the  Trappist  monks,  who  always  perform  the  duty 
of  guides  on  this  occasion, — and,  once  out  in  the  open 
air,  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  sunshine  which  had  now  broken 
brilliantly  through  the  mist  of  the  previously  threaten- 
ing rain-clouds,  Aubrey  Leigh  saw  with  pain  that  Sylvie 
looked  very  pale  and  ill.  He  ventured  to  say  something 
solicitous  concerning  this  to  the  Princesse  D'Agramont, 
whose  bright  dark  eyes  flashed  over  him  with  an  enig- 
matical look,  half  wonder,  half  scorn. 

"  What  strange  creatures  men  are !  "  she  said  satiri- 
cally, "  Even  you,  clever,  and  gifted  with  an  insight  into 
human  nature,  seem  to  be  actually  surprised  that  our  poor, 
pretty  little  Sylvie  looks  ill !  With  half  Rome  declaring 
that  she  was  the  mistress  of  Fontenelle,  and  the  other 
half  swearing  itself  black  in  the  face  that  she  is  the  mis- 
tress of  Gherardi,  she  certainly  ought  to  be  very  happy, 
ought  she  not?  Indeed,  almost  dancing  with  the  joy  and 
consolation  of  knowing  how  pleasant  her  '  Society ' 
friends  are  making  her  life  for  her !  " 

Aubrey's  heart  beat  violently. 

"  Princesse,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  of  vibrating  ear- 


382  The  Master-Christian. 

nestness,  "  If  I  thought — if  I  could  think  such  abominable 
lies  were  told  of  her  .  .  .  ' 

"Chut!"  And  the  Princesse  smiled  rather  sadly, — 
"  It  is  not  like  you  to  '  pretend,'  Mr.  Leigh — You  do 
know, — you  must  know — that  a  coarse  discussion  over 
her  name  was  the  cause  of  the  duel  between  the  Mar- 
quis Fontenelle  and  that  miserable  vaurien  of  the  stage, 
Miraudin, — gossip  generously  lays  the  two  deaths  at  her 
door — and  the  poor  child  is  as  innocent  of  harm  as  the 
lilies  we  have  just  seen  left  to  die  in  the  darkness  of  St.  Ce- 
cilia's tomb.  The  fact  is,  she  came  to  Rome  to  escape  the 
libertinage  and  amorous  persecution  of  Fontenelle ;  and 
she  never  knew  till  the  day  she  heard  of  his  death,  that  he 
had  followed  her.  Nor  did  I.  In  fact,  I  asked  him  to  be 
my  escort  to  Rome,  and  he  refused.  Naturally  I  im- 
agined he  was  still  in  Paris.  So  we  were  all  in  the  dark, 
— and  as  often  happens  in  such  cases,  when  the  world 
does  not  know  whom  to  blame  for  a  disaster,  it  gener- 
ally elects  to  punish  the  innocent.  All  the  Saints  we 
have  heard  about  this  morning,  bear  witness  to  that 
truth !  " 

Aubrey  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  yearningly  at  the 
sylph-like  figure  of  Sylvie  walking  a  little  ahead  of  him 
with  her  friend  Angela. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said  hesitatingly, — "  I  confess,  I 
thought  there  might  have  been  something  between  her 
and  the  late  Marquis  .  .  .  ': 

"  Of  course  there  was  something !  "  answered  the  Prin- 
cesse impatiently,  "Oh,  mon  Dieu!  Plus  de  sottises! 
There  always  is  something  where  Sylvie  is,  Mr.  Leigh ! 
She  cannot  smile  or  sing,  or  turn  her  head,  or  raise  her 
eyes,  or  smell  a  bunch  of  violets,  without  some  one  of  your 
audacious  sex  conceiving  the  idea  of  making  himself 
agreeable  and  indispensable  to  her.  And  when  she  will 
not  compromise  herself — (is  that  not  your  convenient  lit- 
tle phrase?) — she  is  judged  much  more  severely  than  if 
she  had  done  so !  And  do  you  know  why  ?  Because  you 
men  can  never  endure  defeat  in  love-matters !  You 
would  rather  spread  abroad  the  rumour  that  you  had  con- 
quered, than  confess  that  your  libertinism  had  been  per- 
ceived and  repulsed  with  indignation  and  scorn !  And  I 
will  tell  you  another  thing  if  you  do  not  know  it.  In  the 
frequent  destruction  of  an  innocent  woman's  reputation, 


The  Master-Christian.  383 

it  is  a  rejected  suitor  who  generally  starts  the  first  rumour 
and  hands  the  lie  over  to  debased  women,  knowing  that 
they  may  be  trusted  to  keep  it  up!  " 

Aubrey  flushed,  and  winced  under  the  lash  of  her  cut- 
ting words. 

"  You  are  very  cruel,  Princesse !  "  he  said,  "  Surely 
unnecessarily  bitterly  cruel !  " 

"Cher  philosophe,  I  have  loved!"  she  replied,  "And 
that  is  why  I  am  cruel.  I  have  loved  and  have  been  de- 
ceived in  love, — and  that  kind  of  thing  often  turns  the 
most  patient  Griselda  into  an  exceptionally  fierce  tiger- 
cat!  I  am  not  quite  a  tiger-cat, — but  I  confess  I  do  not 
like  one-sidedness  in  anything,  Nature's  tendency  being 
to  equalise — equalise — till  we  are  all  flattened  down  into 
one  level, — the  grave!  At  the  present  moment  we  are 
treading  on  a  mixture  of  kings  and  saints  and  heroes, 
— all  one  soil  you  see,  and  rather  marshy, — badly  in  need 
of  draining  at  all  times ! "  She  laughed  a  little. 
"  Frankly,  I  assure  you,  it  is  to  me  the  most  deplorable 
arrangement  that  a  true  woman  should  be  destined  to 
give  all  the  passion  and  love  of  her  life  to  one  man,  while 
the  same  man  scatters  his  worthless  affections  about  like 
halfpence  among  dozens  of  drabs !  My  dear  Mr.  Leigh, 
do  not  frown  at  me  in  that  tragic  way !  I  am  not  blam- 
ing you!  I  am  not  in  the  least  inclined  to  put  you  in  the 
general  category, — at  least  not  at  present.  You  do  not 
look  like  the  ordinary  man,  though  you  may  be  for  all 
that !  Expression  is  very  deceptive ! "  She  laughed 
again,  then  added,  "  Think  of  our  sweet  Angela,  for  in- 
stance !  Unless  a  merciful  Providence  intervenes,  she 
will  marry  Florian  Varillo, — and  no  doubt  he  will  make 
her  invite  Mademoiselle  Pon-Pon  to  her  house  to  dine 
and  sleep !  " 

"  She  loves  him !  "  said  Aubrey  simply. 

"  Yes,  she  loves  him,  because  she  deludes  herself  with 
the  idea  that  he  is  worthy  of  love.  But  if  she  were  to 
find  him  out  her  whole  soul  would  indignantly  repulse 
him.  If  she  knew  all  /  know  of  him,  she  would  rather 
embrace  the  mildewy  skeleton  of  San  Carlo  Borromeo, 
with  the  great  jewels  glistening  in  his  ghastly  eye-sock- 
ets, than  the  well-fed,  fresh  coloured  Florian  Varillo !  " 

"  If  you  fear  for  her  happiness,  why  not  warn  her  ?  " 
asked  Aubrey. 


384  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Warn  her  against  the  one  creature  she  loves  in  the 
world  ?  "  said  the  Princesse,  "  Thanks  very  much !  I 
would  rather  not.  She  would  never  speak  to  me  again, 
and  I  should  lose  every  chance  of  comforting  or  help- 
ing her  when  affliction  comes — as  of  course  it  is  bound  to 
come !  Each  individual  man  or  woman  makes  his  or  her 
own  life, — we  poor  '  friends  '  can  only  stand  and  look  on, 
waiting  till  they  get  into  the  muddle  that  we  have  always 
foreseen,  and  then  doing  our  best  to 'drag  them  out  of  it; 
but  God  Himself  I  think,  could  not  save  them  from  falling 
into  the  muddle  in  the  first  place.  As  for  Sylvie,  I  have 
advised  her  to  leave  Rome  and  go  back  to  Budapest  at 
once." 

Aubrey  started. 

"Why?" 

"Why?  Can  you  ask?  Because  she  is  misjudged 
here  on  account  of  Fontenelle's  death,  and  calumniated 
and  wronged ;  because  the  women  hate  her  for  her  beauty 
and  wealth,  and  the  men  hate  her  too  because  she  will 
not  flatter  them  by  accepting  their  ridiculous  attentions. 
She  will  be  much  happier  in  her  own  home, — such  a 
grand  old  castle  it  is ! — a  cluster  of  towers  and  broad  bat- 
tlements, with  purple  mountains  in  the  background,  and 
tall  pine-trees  everywhere  .  .  .  " 

"  It  must  be  lonely  for  her !  "  said  Aubrey  quickly, 
"  She  is  so  mignonne — so  caressable — so  made  for  love 

and  care  and  tenderness "  Here  he  broke  off,  vexed 

with  himself  for  having  said  so  much, — and  his  face 
flushed  warmly.  The  Princesse  stopped  in  her  walk  and 
looked  at  him  straightly. 

"  Mr.  Leigh,"  she  said,  "  I  think — I  hope  you  are  an 
honest  man !  And  do  you  know  the  best  advice  I  can 
give  you?  " 

He  answered  no  word,  but  his  eyes  questioned  her 
meaning. 

"  Remain  honest !  "  she  said,  smiling  an  answer  to  his 
look,  "  Be  true  to  your  own  instincts  and  highest  im- 
pulses. Do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  swayed  by  opinion 
or  rumour;  stand  clear  of  both, — and  treat  ei'cn  a  woman 
as  you  would  treat  a  man! — squarely — candidly — faith- 
fully ! " 

She  moved  on  and  rejoined  her  companions,  and  Au- 
brev  followed.  The  Comtesse  Hermenstein's  carriage 


The  Master-Christian.  385 

was  waiting  for  her,  and  the  Comtesse  herself  was  just 
entering  it  with  Angela  Sovrani  as  he  came  up. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Leigh,"  she  said  gently,  extending 
her  hand,  "  I  may  not  see  you  again  perhaps.  I  am  go- 
ing home  to  Buda  this  week." 

"  Must  you  go?"  he  asked,  looking  earnestly  into  the 
lovely  eyes,  lovelier  than  ever  in  their  present  sorrowful 
languor. 

"  I  think  so,"  she  answered,  "  I  may  wait  to  see  An- 
gela's great  picture,  but " 

"  Do  not  hurry  your  departure,"  said  Aubrey,  speaking 

in  a  softer  tone "  Tell  me — may  I  come  and  see  you 

this  evening, — just  for  a  few  moments?  " 

His  eyes  rested  on  her  tenderly,  and  at  the  passion  of 
his  glance  her  own  fell. 

"  If  you  like yes,"  she  murmured.  And  just  then 

the  Princesse  D'Agramont  approached. 

"  May  I  drive  you  home,  Mr.  Leigh?"  she  asked. 

"  Thank  you !  "  And  Aubrey  smiled  as  he  accepted 
the  invitation. 

And  presently  the  carriages  started,  Sylvie's  light  vic- 
toria leading,  and  the  Princesse  D'Agramont's  landeau 
following.  Half  way  back  to  Rome  a  picturesque  little 
beggar,  whose  motley-coloured  rags  scarcely  clothed  his 
smooth  brown  limbs,  suddenly  sprang  out  of '  a  corner 
where  he  had  been  in  hiding  with  a  great  basket  of  vio- 
lets, and  threw  the  whole  fragrant  heap  dexterously  into 
Sylvie's  carriage,  crying  out, 

"  Bellissima  Signora!  Bellissima!  Bellissima!  Un 
soldo !  Un  soldo !  " 

Laughingly  Sylvie  threw  out  four  or  five  francs,  but 
Aubrey,  carried  beyond  all  prudence  by  catching  a 
glimpse  of  Sylvie's  pretty  head  gleaming  above  the  great 
purple  cluster  of  violets  she  had  caught  and  held,  tossed  a 
twenty-franc  piece  to  the  clever  little  rascal  who  had  by 
"  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  and  the  word  to  the  ac- 
tion "  as  Italians  so  often  do,  gained  a  week's  earnings  in 
one  successful  morning. 

And  the  evening  came,  misty  but  mild,  with  the  moon 
peering  doubtfully  through  a  fleecy  veil  of  fine  floating 
vapour,  which,  gathering  flashes  of  luminance  from  the 
silver  orb,  turned  to  the  witch-lights  of  an  opal, — and 
Aubrey  made  his  way  to  the  Casa  D'Angeli,  which  in  his 


386 


The  Master-Christian. 


own  mind  he  called  the  "  Palais  DTffry,"  in  memory  of 
the  old  Breton  song  Sylvie  had  sung.  On  giving  his 
name  he  was  at  once  shown  up  into  the  great  salon,  now 
made  beautiful  by  the  picturesque  and  precious  things  ac- 
cumulated there,  and  arranged  with  the  individuality  and 
taste  of  the  presiding  spirit.  She  was  quite  alone,  seated 
in  a  deep  easy  chair  near  the  fire, — and  her  dress,  of  some 
faint  shell-pink  hue,  clung  about  her  in  trailing  soft  folds 
which  fell  in  a  glistening  heap  of  crushed  rose-tints  at 
her  feet,  making  a  soft  rest  for  her  tiny  dog  who  was 
luxuriously  curled  therein.  The  firelight  shed  a  warm 
glow  around  her, — flickering  brightly  on  her  fair  hair,  on 
her  white  arms,  and  small  hands  where  one  or  two  dia- 
monds flashed  like  drops  of  dew, — and  Aubrey,  as  he  en- 
tered, was  conscious  of  an  overpowering  sense  of  weak- 
ness, poverty  of  soul,  narrowness  of  mind,  incompetency 
of  attainment, — for  the  tranquillity  and  sweet  perfection 
of  the  picture  his  eyes  rested  upon — a  picture  lovelier 
than  even  the  Gretchen  which  tempted  Goethe's  Faust  to 
Hell, — made  him  doubtful  of  his  own  powers — mistrust- 
ful of  his  own  worth.  In  his  life  of  self-renunciation 
among  the  poorer  classes,  he  had  grown  accustomed  to 
pity  women, — to  look  upon  them  more  or  less  as  frail, 
broken  creatures  needing  help  and  support, — sometimes 
to  be  loved,  but  far  more  often  to  be  despised  and  neg- 
lected. But  Sylvie,  Comtesse  Hermenstein,  was  not  of 
these, — he  knew,  or  thought  he  knew  that  she  needed 
nothing.  Beauty  was  hers,  wealth  was  hers,  independ- 
ence of  position  was  hers;  and  if  she  had  given  a  smile 
or  nod  of  encouragement,  lovers  were  hers  to  command. 
What  was  he  that  he  should  count  himself  at  all  valuable 
in  her  sight,  even  as  the  merest  friend?  These- despond- 
ent thoughts  were  doubly  embittered  by  the  immense 
scorn  he  now  entertained  for  himself  that  he  should  have 
been  such  a  fool  as  to  listen  for  a  moment  to  the  silly  and 
malignant  gossip  circulated  among  the  envious  concern- 
ing a  woman  who  was  admittedly  the  superior  of  those 
who  calumniated  her.  For  clearest  logic  shows  that  wher- 
ever superiority  exists,  inferiority  rises  up  in  opposition, 
and  the  lower  endeavours  to  drag  the  higher  down. 
Such  vague  reflections,  coursing  rapidly  through  his 
brain,  gave  him  an  air  of  embarrassment  and  awkward- 
ness not  by  any  means  common  to  him,  as  he  advanced, 


The  Master-Christian.  387 

and  Sylvie,  half  rising  from  her  chair,  greeted  him  in  her 
turn  with  a  little  touch  of  shyness  which  sent  a  wave  of 
soft  colour  over  her  face,  and  made  her  look  ten  times 
prettier  than  ever. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  alone "  he  began. 

"  Yes  ?  I  am  generally  alone,"  answered  Sylvie  with 

a  little  smile "  except  for  Katrine she  would  be 

here  to  welcome  you  this  evening,  but  she  has  a  very  bad 
neuralgic  headache " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  murmured  Aubrey,  with  hypo- 
critical earnestness,  all  the  while  devoutly  blessing 
Madame  Bozier  s  timely  indisposition.  "  She  is  a  great 
sufferer  from  neuralgia,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes  .  .  ."  and  Sylvie,  to  divert  the  cloud  of  embar- 
rassment that  seemed  to  be  deepening  rather  than  dis- 
persing for  them  both,  rang  the  bell  with  a  pretty 
imperativeness  that  was  rather  startling  to  Aubrey's 
nerves. 

"  \Yhat  is  that  for?  "  he  enquired  irrelevantly. 

"  Only  for  coffee !  " 

Their  eyes  met, — the  mutual  glance  was  irresistible,  and 
they  both  laughed.  Sylvie's  Arab  page  entered  in  re- 
sponse to  her  summons,  a  pretty  dusky-skinned  lad  of 
some  twelve  years  old,  picturesquely  arrayed  in  scarlet, 
and  bearing  a  quaintly  embossed  gilt  salver  with  coffee 
prepared  in  the  Arabian  fashion. 

''  Do  you  like  coffee  made  in  this  way?  "  asked  Sylvie, 
as  she  handed  Aubrey  his  cup. 

Aubrey's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  small  white  hand  that 
looked  so  dainty,  curled  over  the  trifle  of  Sevres  china 
that  was  called  a  coffee-cup, — and  he  answered  vaguely, 

'  This  way  ?     Oh,  yes of  course — any  way !  " 

A  faint  smile  lifted  the  rosy  corners  of  Sylvie's 
mouth  as  she  heard  this  incoherent  reply — and  the 
Arab  page  rolled  his  dark  eyes  up  at  his  fair 
mistress  with  a  look  of  dog-like  affectionate  enquiry, 
as  to  whether  perhaps  some  fault  in  his  serving 
had  caused  that  little  playful  enigmatical  expression 
on  the  face  which  he,  in  common  with  many  others 
of  his  sex,  thought  the  fairest  in  the  world.  The  coffee 
dispensed  and  the  page  gone,  there  followed  a  spell  of 
silence.  The  fire  burned  cheerily  in  the  deep  chimney, 
and  the  great  logs  cracked  and  spluttered  as  much  as  to 


388  The  Master-Christian. 

say,  "  If  these  two  curious  people  can  find  nothing  to 
talk  about,  we  can!"  And  then,  just  as  luck  would 
have  it,  a  burning  ember  suddenly  detached  itself  from 
the  rest  and  fell  out  blazing  on  the  hearth — Sylvie  sprang 
up  to  push  it  back,  and  Aubrey  to  assist  her, — and  then, 
strange  to  relate — only  the  occult  influences  of  attraction 
know  how  it  happened — the  little  difficulty  of  the  burning 
ember  brought  those  two  other  burning  embers  of  hu- 
manity together — for  Aubrey,  hardly  conscious  of  what 
he  did,  caught  Sylvie's  swaying,  graceful  figure  as  she 
rose  from  bending  over  the  fire,  closely  in  his  arms,  with 
a  passion  which  mounted  like  a  wave  to  tempest  height, 
and  knew  no  further  hesitation  or  obstacle. 

"  Sylvie !  Sylvie !  I  love  you ! — my  darling !  I  love 
you! " 

No  answer  came,  for  there  was  none  needed.  Her  face 
was  hidden  on  his  breast — but  he  felt  rather  than  saw  the 
soft  white  arms  and  dainty  hands  moving  tremblingly 
upwards,  till  they  closed  round  him  in  the  dear  embrace 
which  meant  for  him  from  henceforth  the  faith  and  love 
and  devotion  of  one  true  heart  through  all  the  sorrows 
and  perplexities  as  well  as  the  joys  and  triumphs  of  life. 
And  when,  with  his  heart  beating,  and  all  his  pulses  thrill- 
ing with  the  new  ecstacy  that  possessed  him,  he  whispered 
a  word  or  two  that  caused  the  pretty  golden  head  to  raise 
itself  timidly — the  beautiful  dark  blue  eyes  to  grow 
darker  with  the  tenderness  that  overflowed  the  soul  be- 
hind them,  and  the  sweet  lips  to  meet  his  own  in  a  kiss,  as 
soft  and  fragrant  as  though  a  rose  had  touched  them,  it 
was  small  blame  to  him  that  for  a  moment  he  lost  his  self- 
possession,  and  drawing  her  closer  in  his  arms,  showered 
upon  her  not  only  kisses,  but  whispered  words  of  all  that 
tender  endearment  which  is  judged  as  "  foolish "  by 
those  who  have  never  had  the  privilege  of  being  made 
the  subject  of  such  priceless  and  exquisite  "  fooling." 
And  when  they  were  calmer,  and  began  to  think  of 
the  possibility  of  the  worthy  Bozier  suddenly  recover- 
ing from  her  neuralgia  and  coming  to  look  after  her 
pupil, — or  the  undesired  but  likely  entrance  of  a 
servant  to  attend  to  the  lamps,  or  to  put  fresh  wood 
on  the  fire,  they  turned  each  from  the  other,  with  re- 
luctance and  half  laughing  decorum, — Sylvie  resum- 
ing her  seat  by  the  fire,  and  Aubrey  flinging  himself 


The  Master-Christian.  389 

with  happy  recklessness  in  a  low  fauteuil  as  near  to 
her  as  could  be  permitted  for  a  gentleman  visitor,  who 
might  be  considered  as  enthusiastically  expounding  litera- 
ture or  science  to  a  fascinating  hostess.  And  somehow, 
as  they  talked,  their  conversation  did  gradually  -drift  from 
passionate  personalities  into  graver  themes  affecting 
wider  interests,  and  Aubrey,  warming  into  eloquence, 
gave  free  vent  to  his  thoughts  and  opinions,  till  noticing 
that  Sylvie  sat  very  silent,  looking  into  the  fire  somewhat 
gravely,  he  checked  himself  abruptly,  fancying  that  per- 
haps he  was  treading  on  what  might  be  forbidden  ground 
with  her  whose  pleasure  was  now  his  law.  As  he  came 
to  this  sudden  pause,  she  turned  her  soft  eyes  towards  him 
tenderly,  with  a  smile. 

"  WelJ !  "  she  said,  in  the  pretty  foreign  accent  which 
distinguished  her  almost  perfect  English,  "  And  why  do 
you  stop  speaking?  You  must  not  be  afraid  to  trust  me 
with  your  closest  thoughts, — because  how  can  our  love 
be  perfect  if  you  do  not  ?  " 

"  Sweetheart !  "  he  answered,  catching  the  white  hand 
that  was  so  temptingly  near  his  own,  "  Our  love  is  per- 
fect ! — and  so  far  as  I  am  concerned  there  shall  never  be 
a  cloud  on  such  a  dazzling  sky !  " 

She  smiled. 

"  Ah,  you  talk  romance  just  now !  "  she  said,  "  But  Au- 
brey, I  want  our  love  to  be  something  more  than  romance 
—I  want  it  to  be  a  grand  and  helpful  reality!  If  I  am 
not  worthy  to  be  the  companion  of  your  very  soul,  you 
will  not,  you  cannot  love  me  long.  Now,  no  protesta- 
tions !  "  For  he  had  possessed  himself  of  the  dear  little 
hand  again,  and  was  covering  it  with  kisses — "  You  see, 
it  is  very  sweet  just  now  to  sit  by  the  fire  together,  and 
look  at  each  other,  and  feel  how  happy  we  are — but  life 
does  not  go  on  like  that.  And  your  life,  my  Aubrey,  be^ 
longs  to  the  world  .  .  ." 

''  To  you ! — to  you !  "  said  Aubrey  passionately,  "  I 
give  it  to  you !  You  know  the  song  ? — 

I  set  my  life  in  your  hand 
Mar  it  or  make  it  sweet, — 
I  set  my  life  in  your  hand, 
I  lay  my  heart  at  your  feet !  " 

Sylvie  rose  impulsively,  and  leaning  over  his  chair 
kissed  his  forehead. 


39°  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Yes,  I  know !  And  I  know  you  mean  what  you  say ! 
I  could  not  imagine  you  telling  an  untruth, — not  even  in 
making  love ! "  and  she  laughed,  "  Though  there  are 
many  of  your  sex  who  think  any  amount  of  lies  permis- 
sible under  similar  circumstances!  And  it  is  just  be- 
cause I  have  found  men  such  practised  liars,  that  I  have 
the  reputation  of  being  heartless.  Did  you  ever  think 
me  heartless  ?  " 

Aubrey  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted  at  last,  frankly,  "  I  did  till  I  knew 
better.  I  was  told " 

"  Stop !  I  know  all  you  were  told !  "  said  Sylvie,  draw- 
ing her  slim  figure  up  with  a  pretty  dignity  as  she  moved 
back  to  her  place  by  the  fire — "  You  were  told  that  I  was 
the  cause  of  the  death  of  the  Marquis  Fontenelle.  So  I 
was,  unhappily — but  not  through  my  own  fault.  The  ac- 
tor Miraudin, — known  to  be  one  of  the  most  coarse- 
minded  and  brutal  of  men, — slandered  me  in  public, — the 
Marquis  defended  me.  Hence  the  combat  and  its  fatal 
end,  which  no  one  has  deplored  more  bitterly  than  I. 
Miraudin  was  never  a  gentleman, — Fontenelle  could  have 
been  one  had  he  chosen.  And  I  confess  I  cared  very 
much  for  him  at  one  time !  " 

"  You  loved  him,"  said  Aubrey,  trying  to  master  a  pang 
of  jealousy. 

"  Yes !  I  loved  him  ! — till  he  proved  himself  unworthy 
of  love." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  I  tell  you  all  this,"  said  Sylvie  then  slowly  and  em- 
phatically, "  that  you  may  know  me  at  once  as  I  am.  I 
wish  to  hide  nothing  from  you.  I  have  read  all  your 
books — I  know  your  views  of  life — your  hatred  of  dis- 
simulation— your  contempt  of  a  lie!  In  your  love  for 
me,  you  must  have  complete  knowledge  of  my  nature,  and 
confidence  in  my  truth.  I  would  never  give  my  life  to 
any  man  unless  he  trusted  me  absolutely, — unless  I  was 
sure  he  felt  I  was  a  real  helpmate  for  him.  I  love  you — 
but  I  also  love  your  work  and  your  aims ;  and  I  go  with 
all  your  thoughts  and  wish  to  share  all  your  responsibili- 
ties. But  I  must  feel  that  you  will  never  misjudge  me, — 
never  set  me  down  on  the  level  of  mean  and  small-na- 
tured  women,  who  cannot  sacrifice  themselves  or  their 
personal  vanities  for  another's  sake.  It  is  not  for  me  to 


The  Master-Christian.  391 

i 

say  that  the  calumnies  circulated  concerning  me  are  un- 
true,— it  is  for  my  life  to  show  and  prove  they  are  not ! 
But  I  must  be  trusted — not  suspected ;  and  if  you  give 
me  your  life  as  you  say,  I  will  give  mine  to  help  make 
yours  happier,  asking  from  you  in  return  just  your  faith 
— your  faith  as  well  as  your  love !  " 

Like  a  fair  queen  she  stood,  royal  in  her  look,  bearing 
and  attitude,  and  Aubrey  bent  his  head  low  in  reverence 
before  her  as  he  once  more  kissed  her  hand. 

"  My  wife !  "  he  said  simply. 

And  the  silence  that  followed  was  as  that  of  God's 
benediction  on  that  perfect  marriage  which  is  scarcely 
ever  consummated  in  all  the  world, — the  marriage  of  two 
souls,  which  like  twin  flames,  unite  and  burn  upward  clear 
to  Heaven,  as  One. 


XXVII. 

SOCIETY  soon  learned  the  news  of  the  Countess  Her- 
menstein's  betrothal  to  the  "  eccentric  Englishman,"  Au- 
brey Leigh, — and  with  its  million  tongues  discussed  the 
affair  in  all  tones, — most  people  preferring  to  say,  with 
the  usual  "  society  "  kindness,  that — "  Leigh  was  not  quite 
such  a  self-sacrificing  idealist  as  he  seemed  to  be, — he 
was  going  to  marry  for  money."  Some  few  ventured  to 
remark  that  Sylvie  Hermenstein  was  charming  in  her- 
self and  well  worth  winning, — but  the  more  practical 
pooh-poohed  this  view  of  the  case  at  once.  "  Pretty  wo- 
men are  to  be  had  by  the  score,"  they  said,  "  It  is  the 
money  that  tells !  "  Aubrey  Leigh  caught  these  rumours, 
and  was  in  a  manner  stung  by  them, — he  said  very  little 
however,  and  to  all  the  congratulations  he  received,  merely 
gave  coldly  civil  thanks.  And  so  the  gossips  went  to 
work  again  in  their  own  peculiar  way,  and  said,  "  Well! 
She  will  have  an  iceberg  for  a  husband,  that  is  one 
thing !  A  stuck  up,  insolent  sort  of  chap ! — not  a  bit  of 
go  in  him !  "  Which  was  true, — Aubrey  had  no  "  go." 
"  Go  "  means,  in  modern  parlance,  to  drink  oneself  stupid, 
to  bet  on  the  most  trifling  passing  events,  and  to  talk 
slang  that  would  disgrace  a  stable-boy,  as  well  as  to 
amuse  oneself  with  all  sorts  of  mean  and  vulgar  intrigues 
which  are  carried  on  through  the  veriest  skulk  and  cad- 
dishness ; — thus  Aubrey  was  a  sad  failure  in  "  tip-top  " 
circles.  But  the  "  tip-top  "  circles  are  not  a  desirable 
heaven  to  every  man; — and  Aubrey  did  not  care  much 
as  to  what  sort  of  comments  were  passed  on  himself,  pro- 
vided he  could  see  Sylvie  always  "  queen  it  "  over  her  in- 
feriors in  that  graceful,  gracious  way  of  conquest  which 
was  her  special  peculiarity  and  charm.  Among  her 
friends  no  one  perhaps  was  happier  in  Sylvie's  happiness 
than  Angela  Sovrani ;  her  nature  was  of  that  rare  quality 
which  vibrates  like  a  harp  to  every  touch,  and  the  joy  of 
others  swept  over  her  with  a  gladness  which  made  her 
more  giad  than  if  she  had  received  some  priceless  boon 


The  Master-Christian.  393 

for  her  own  benefit.  Florian  Varillo  was  exceedingly 
angry  at  the  whole  affair, — and  whenever  Sylvie's  be- 
trothal was  spoken  of  he  assumed  an  expression  of 
pained  and  personal  offence  which  was  almost  grotesque. 

"  Such  a  marriage  is  ridiculous !  "  he  declared, — 
"  Everyone  can  see  how  utterly  unsuited  the  two  are  in 
tastes,  habits  and  opinions !  They  will  rue  the  day  they 
ever  met !  " 

And  not  all  the  gentle  remonstrances  of  his  own 
fiancee  Angela,  could  soothe  his  ruffled  humour,  or  make 
him  accept  the  inevitable  with  grace.  Angela  was  ex- 
ceedingly troubled  and  puzzled  by  his  almost  childish 
waywardness, — she  did  not  yet  understand  the  nature  of 
a  man  who  was  to  himself  all  in  all,  and  who  could  not 
endure  the  idea  that  any  woman  whom  he  personally  con- 
descended to  admire  should  become  the  possession  vi  an- 
other, no  matter  how  completely  that  woman  might  be 
beyond  his  own  reach.  Poor  Angela!  She  was  very 
simple — very  foolish  indeed ; — she  never  imagined  it 
could  be  possible  for  a  man  to  carry  on  five  or  six  love- 
affairs  at  once,  and  never  be  found  out.  Yet  this  was 
the  kind  of  life  her  "  ideal "  found  the  most  suitable  to 
his  habit  and  temperament, — and  he  had  made  a  mental 
note  of  Sylvie  Hermenstein  as  one  whom  he  proposed  to 
add  to  his  little  list  of  conquests.  So  that  her  engage- 
ment of  marriage  to  one  who,  though  reserved  in  manner 
and  without  "  go,"  was  yet  every  inch  a  gentleman,  and 
a  determined  opposer  of  sophistry  and  humbug,  had  con- 
siderably disturbed  his  little  plans,  and  the  unsettlement 
of  anything  he  had  set  his  heart  upon  greatly  displeased 
him.  He  generally  had  his  own  way  in  most  things,  and 
could  not  at  all  comprehend  why  he  was  not  to  have  it 
now.  But  among  all  the  people  who  discussed  the  in- 
tended marriage  there  were  two  who  were  so  well  satis- 
fied as  to  be  almost  jubilant,  and  these  were  the  Mon- 
signori  Moretti  and  Gherardi.  These  worthies  met  to- 
gether in  one  of  the  private  chambers  set  apart  for  the  use 
of  the  Papal  court  in  the  Vatican,  and  heartily  congratu- 
lated each  other  on  the  subjugation  and  enthralment  of 
Aubrey  Leigh,  which  meant,  as  they  considered,  the  con- 
sequent removal  of  a  fierce  opponent  to  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic movement  in  England. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,"  said  Moretti,  as  he  untied  some 


394  The  Master-Christian. 

papers  he  had  been  carrying,  and  sat  down  at  a  table  to 
glance  over  them,  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  when  all  other 
arguments  fail,  the  unanswerable  one  of  woman  can  be 
brought  in  to  clinch  every  business  ?  " 

Gherardi,  though  in  a  way  contented,  was  not  alto- 
gether so  sure  of  his  goal.  He  remembered,  with  an  un- 
comfortable thrill  of  doubt,  the  little  skirmish  of  words 
he  had  had  with  the  fair  Sylvie  in  the  Pamphili  woods. 

"  You  take  your  thoughts  for  deeds,  and  judge  them 
as  fully  accomplished  while  they  are  still  in  embryo ! " 
he  said,  "  It  is  true  that  the  engagement  of  marriage  is 
settled, — but  can  you  be  certain  that  in  religious  matters 
the  wife  may  not  go  with  her  husband  ?  " 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Moretti,  opening  his  dark  eyes 
quickly,  as  a  flash  of  hell-fire  illumined  them  at  the  very 
idea,  "  Do  you  suggest  that  Sylvie  Hermenstein, — the 
last  of  her  race — a  race  which,  back  to  its  earliest  source, 
has  been  distinguished  for  its  faithful  allegiance  to 
Mother-Church,  and  has  moreover  added  largely  to  the 
Papal  revenues — could  be  otherwise  than  our  obedient 
and  docile  daughter?  Per  la  Santissima  Madonna! — if  I 
thought  she  could  turn  against  us  her  marriage  should 
never  take  place !  " 

And  he  brought  his  fist  down  with  a  fierce  blow  on  the 
papers  before  him. 

"  The  marriage  should  never  take  place ! "  echoed 
Gherardi,  "  How  could  you  prevent  it  ?  " 

'  The  Pope  himself  should  intervene !  "  said  Moretti, 
with  increasing  fury,  losing  a  little  of  his  self-control, 
"  Gran  Dio!  Conceive  for  a  moment  the  wealth  of  the 
Hermensteins  being  used  to  promulgate  the  reformer 
Leigh's  threadbare  theories,  and  feed  his  rascal  poor ! 
Do  you  know  what  Sylvie  Hermenstein's  fortune  is? 
No,  I  suppose  you  do  not !  But  I  do !  She  tries  to  keep 
it  a  secret,  but  I  have  made  it  my  business  to  find  out !  It 
is  enormous! — and  it  is  ever  increasing.  With  all  the 
fanciful  creature's  clothes  and  jewels  and  unthinking  way 
of  living  her  life,  she  spends  not  a  quarter,  nor  half  a 
quarter  of  her  income, — and  yet  you  actually  venture  to 
suggest  that  her  power  is  so  slight  over  the  man  who  is 
now  her  promised  husband,  that  she  would  voluntarily 
allow  him  to  use  all  that  huge  amount  of  money  as  he 
pleased,  outside  the  Church  ?  " 


The  Master-Christian.  395 

Moretti  spoke  with  such  passionate  insistence  that 
Gherardi  thought  it  prudent  not  to  irritate  him  further  by 
argument.  So  he  merely  said, 

"  You  expect  her  to  persuade  him  to  embrace  our 
faith  ?  " 

"  Naturally !  "  answered  Moretti,  "  And  she  can,  and 
will  do  so.  If  she  cannot  or  will  not,  she  must  be  made 
to  do  so !  " 

He  bent  over  his  papers  again  and  rustled  them  im- 
patiently, but  his  hand  trembled.  The  pale  December 
sunlight  glittered  through  a  stained-glass  window  above 
him,  and  cast  deep  violet  rays  about  his  chair, — Gherardi 
stood  where  the  same  luminance  touched  his  pale  face 
with  a  crimson  glow  as  of  fire. 

"  This  is  a  busy  morning  with  us,"  said  Moretti,  with- 
out looking  up,  "  The  excommunication  of  Denis  Vergn- 
iaud  will  be  pronounced  to-day, — and,  what  is  even 
more  important, — Cardinal  Bonpre  is  summoned  by  His 
Holiness's  command  to  wait  upon  him  this  afternoon, 
bringing  the  boy, — that  boy  who  is  always  with  him — " 

"  Ah,  there  is  a  history  there !  "  interrupted  Gherardi, 
"  It  should  be  remembered  that  this  boy  was  a  witness  of 
the  miracle  in  Rouen,  and  he  was  also  present  at  the 

Vergniaud  scandal  in  Paris he  should  have  been 

sent  for  ere  now.  He,  more  than  anyone,  must  surely 
know  how  the  miracle  was  accomplished, — for  the  worthy 
Felix  tells  me  he  is  '  wise  beyond  his  years  ' !  " 

"  So !  His  wisdom  will  be  put  to  the  test  to-day ! " 
said  Moretti  coldly,  "  Do  you  not  think  it  strange  " — 
here  he  raised  his  eyes  from  his  papers,  "  and  somewhat 
incriminating  too — always  supposing  the  miracle  is  a  case 
of  conspiracy — that  no  trace  has  been  discovered  of  the 
man  Claude  Cazeau  ?  " 

Gherardi  had  moved  to  a  book-case,  and  was  standing 
close  to  it,  turning  over  a  vellum-bound  manuscript. 

"  Yes — the  whole  business  looks  as  black  as  murder !  " 
he  said. 

Moretti  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  Murder?     You  suppose " 

"  That  Claude  Cazeau  has  been  murdered?  Certainly 
I  suppose  it !  It  is  more  than  a  week  now  since  we  heard 
that  he  had  mysteriously  disappeared,  and  still  there  is 
no  news.  What  can  it  be  but  murder  ?  But  I  do  not  for 


396  The  Master-Christian. 

a  moment  suppose  that  our  good  Saint  Felix  is  concerned 
in  it!" 

And  he  smiled,  turning  over  the  vellum  volume  care- 
lessly. 

Moretti  knitted  his  dark  brows. 

"  No — no !  "  he  said  musingly,  "  That  would  not  be 
possible!  Cardinal  Bonpre  is  not  that  kind  of  man — he 
would  rather  bear  the  heaviest  weight  of  punishment  for 
himself  than  allow  another  to  suffer.  That  I  know  of 
him ; — and  though  I  do  not  admire  his  extreme  views  on 
this  point,  and  do  not  think  them  politic,  I  give  him  full 
credit  for  this  particular  and  uncommon  form  of — ec- 
centricity !  " 

"  Or  Christianity !  "  said  Gherardi,  still  smiling. 

Moretti  pushed  aside  his  papers,  and  leaning  his  head 
on  one  hand  frowned  meditatively  at  the  amethyst  light 
which  streamed  radiantly,  through  the  jewel-like  window 
above  him. 

"  Yes — or  Christianity,  if  you  like !  "  he  said,  "  For 
Christianity  pur  et  simple,  would  be  eccentricity.  In  its 
primitive  simplicity  it  is  an  impossible  creed.  Founded 
by  the  Divine  it  needs  divine  beings  to  comprehend 
and  follow  it, — beings  not  of  this  world  nor  ad- 
dicted to  the  things  of  this  world.  And  to  exist 
in  the  world,  made  of  the  world's  clay,  and  the 
world's  inherited  associations,  and  yet  not  be  of  it, 
is  to  be  judged  crazed !  True,  there  have  been  saints 
and  martyrs, — there  are  saints  and  martyrs  now,  un- 
known and  unheard  of,  but  nevertheless  consumed  by 
flames  more  cruel  perhaps  than  those  which  physically 
burn  the  flesh ; — idealists,  thinkers,  dreamers,  heralds  of 
future  progress, — and  how  are  they  estimated  ?  As  mad- 
men all !  To  be  human,  and  yet  above  humanity,  is  the 
supreme  sin !  For  that  very  affront  the  multitude  cried 
out,  '  Not  this  man,  but  Barabbas ! '  And  to  this  day  we 
all  prefer  Barabbas  to  Christ.  Hence  the  power  of  the 
Church !  " 

Gherardi  put  back  the  volume  he  had  been  glancing  at, 
on  its  shelf,  and  looked  at  his  confrere  with  a  certain 
amount  of  admiring  respect.  He  had  been  long  an  in- 
terested student  of  the  various  psychological  workings  of 
Moretti's  mind, — and  he  knew  that  Moretti's  schem- 
ing brain  was  ever  hard  at  work  designing  bold  and 


The  Master-Christian.  397 

almost  martial  plans  for  securing  such  conversions 
to  the  Church  as  would  seriously  trouble  the  peace 
of  two  or  three  great  nations.  Moretti  was  in  close 
personal  touch  with  every  crowned  head  in  Europe;  he 
was  acquainted  more  closely  than  anyone  alive  with  the 
timidities,  the  nervous  horrors,  the  sudden  scruples,  the 
sickening  qualms  of  conscience,  and  the  overwhelming 
fears  of  death  which  troubled  the  minds  of  certain  power- 
ful personages  apparently  presenting  a  brave  front  to  the 
world, — and  he  held  such  personages  in  awe  by  the  very 
secrets  which  they  had,  in  weak  moments,  entrusted  to 
him.  Gherardi  even  was  not  without  his  own  fears, — he 
instinctively  felt  that  Moretti  knew  more  about  himself 
than  was  either  safe  or  convenient. 

"  We  all  live  for  Barabbas,"  pursued  Moretti,  an  ironi- 
cal smile  playing  on  his  thin  lips,  "  Not  for  Christ ! 
Barabbas,  in  the  shape  of  the  unscrupulous  millionaire, 
robs  the  world ! — and  we  share  the  spoils,  pardon  his  rob- 
beries, and  set  him  free.  But  whosoever  lives  outside 
Dogma,  serving  God  purely  and  preaching  truth, — him 
we  crucify ! — but  our  Robber, — our  murderer  of  Truth, 
\ve  set  at  liberty !  Hence,  as  I  said  before,  the  power  of 
the  Church !  " 

Carried  away  by  his  thoughts,  he  rose,  and  pacing  the 
room,  talked  more  to  himself  than  to  Gherardi. 

'  The  Church  supports  the  robber,  because  he  is  al- 
ways a  coward  and  cannot  stand  alone.  The  murderer 
of  his  fellow-men's  good  name  is  naturally  a  liar,  and 
fears  lest  his  lies  should  find  him  out.  Fear!  That  is 
the  keynote  on  which  we  of  Rome  play  our  invincible 
march  of  triumph !  The  Church  appeals  to  the  ignorant, 
the  base,  the  sensual,  the  false,  and  the  timorous;  and 
knowing  that  they  never  repent,  but  are  only  afraid,  re- 
tains them  by  fear ! — fear,  not  love !  Christ  taught  love 
— but  hate  is  the  more  popular  virtue !  Hence  again,  the 
power  of  the  Church  !  " 

"  Your  argument  is  perfectly  orthodox !  "  said  Gher- 
ardi, with  a  smile. 

"  Hate  is  a  grand,  a  strong  quality !  "  went  on  Moretti, 
"  It  makes  nations,  it  builds  up  creeds !  If  men  loved  one 
another  what  should  they  need  of  a  Church  ?  But  Hate ! 
— the  subtle  sense  which  makes  the  ultra-respectable 
thank  God  that  he  is  not  as  other  men  are! — the  fierce 


398  The  Master-Christian. 

emotion  which  almost  touches  ecstacy  when  the  wronged 
individual  thinks  his  enemy  will  go  to  hell! — the  fine 
fever  which  sets  father  against  son,  creed  against  creed, 
nation  against  nation ! — hate  is  the  chief  mainspring  of 
human  motives !  From  hate  and  envy  spring  emulation 
and  conquest — and  we  of  the  Church  encourage  the 
haters  to  hate  on !  They  make  Us ! — they  emulate  each 
other  in  the  greed  of  their  gifts  to  us,  which  give  them 
notoriety  and  advertise  their  generosity, — we  fan  the 
flame  and  encourage  the  fury !  For  the  world  must  have 
a  religion — it  crucified  Christ,  but  the  Church,  built  up 
in  His  name,  takes  just  and  daily  revenge  for  His  mur- 
der !  We  do  not  save — we  kill !  We  do  not  rescue — we 
trample  down!  We  humiliate, — we  crush  wherever  we 
can,  and  it  is  well  and  fitting  we  should  do  so!  For 
Humanity  is  a  brute  beast,  and  serves  us  best  under  the 
lash.  Rome  made  many  a  blunder  in  the  old  days  of  bar- 
barity and  ignorance — but  now  we  have  a  thousand  forces 
put  into  our  hands  instead  of  one  or  two, — forces  to 

terrorise — forces  to  compel ! and  the  power  of  Rome 

wielded  by  the  Popes  of  the  days  to  come,  shall  be  indeed 
a  power  irresistible !  " 

He  stood  enrapt, — his  hand  upraised,  his  eyes  flashing ; 
then  recalling  himself,  turned  abruptly  on  Gherardi  with 
an  impatient  gesture. 

"  You  can  repeat  all  this,"  he  said  sarcastically,  "  in 
your  next  eloquent  discourse  with  Aubrey  Leigh !  It  will 
save  you  the  trouble  of  thinking '  His  influence  with  the 
English  masses  will  be  but  a  brief  phenomenon, — the 
blind  and  brutal  stupidity  of  the  people  he  seeks  to  serve 
will  soon  dishearten  and  discourage  him,  and  then  he  will 
come  to  us  through  his  wife,  and  his  conversion  will  be 
a  triumph  worth  winning, — a  step  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. And  now  to  other  matters.  These  papers,"  and 
he  sat  down  at  the  table  once  more,  "  are,  I  think,  suffi- 
ciently in  order  to  be  placed  before  His  Holiness.  But 
you  may  as  well  look  through  them  with  me  first.  Later 
on,  the  affair  of  Cardinal  Bonpre  will  occupy  all  our 
time  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  an  '  affair  '  then  ?  "  asked  Gherardi,  "  The  '  saint ' 
is  in  trouble  ?  " 

"  All  '  saints  '  get  into  trouble !  "  answered  Moretti,  "  It 
is  only  sinners  who  receive  honour!  Cardinal  Bonpre 


The  Master-Christian.  399 

has  made  the  fatal  mistake  of  reading  Jesus  Christ's  Gos- 
pel instead  of  Church  Doctrine !  His  creed  is  Love, — his 
duty,  as  I  have  just  explained  to  you,  if  he  would  be  a 
faithful  son  of  the  Church,  is  Hate !  " 

"  Love  forms  no  part  of  your  nature  then  ? "  asked 
Gherardi,  hardly  knowing  why  he  put  the  question,  yet 
curious  as  to  the  answer. 

"  I  am  of  the  world !  "  replied  Moretti  coldly,  "  And  I 
hate  accordingly.  I  hate,  and  in  my  hate,  aspire  to  crush 
those  who  in  turn  hate  me !  That  is  the  human  code,  and 
one  that  must  be  strictly  practised  by  all  who  would  rule 
mankind.  Xever  do  anything  for  those  who  can  do  noth- 
ing for  you  !  Firmly  oppose  those  who  oppose  you !  Re- 
venge yourself  on  those  who  despitefully  use  you !  We 
do  revenge  ourselves, — and  we  reward  all  who  help  us  to 
our  revenge!  For  example,  Denis  Vergniaud  has  cast 
opprobrium  on  his  calling,  and  made  a  scandal  arid  a 
shame  of  the  Church  before  his  congregation  in  Paris ; — 
we  excommunicate  him !  It  is  no  use,  but  we  do  it  on 
principle.  And  we  are  still  unable  to  explain  away,  or 
offer  any  excuse  for  Cardinal  Bonpre's  mistake  in  con- 
doning and  pardoning  his  offence.  Therefore  it  follows 
as  you  say,  that  the  '  saint '  is  in  trouble !  " 

"  Notwithstanding  the  miracle?" 

"  Notwithstanding  the  miracle !  "  echoed  Moretti,  "  For 
the  miracle  is  doubtful.  The  Holy  Father  is  not  satis- 
fied of  its  truth.  Yes — there  is  no  doubt  about  it,  Saint 
Felix  is  in  trouble !  It  would  be  better  for  him  had  he 
never  come  out  of  his  long  retirement.  But  perhaps  he 
was  compelled  to  look  after  his  Rouen  foundling !  " 

A  smile  flickered  faintly  over  Gherardi's  face,  but  he 
£aid  not  a  word  in  answer.  Discovering  an  error  in  one 
of  the  documents  he  was  examining,  he  called  Moretti's 
attention  to  it,  and  the  conversation  drifted  to  everyday 
trivial  subjects.  But  the  thoughts  of  both  men  were 
elsewhere,  and  not  even  the  news  received  that  morning 
of  the  bequest  of  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  to  the 
Shrine  of  Lourdes  from  a  deluded  believer  in  the  miracu- 
lous Virgin  there,  absorbed  so  much  of  their  reflective 
brain  powers  as  the  imminent  trial — for  it  was  little  else 
— of  Cardinal  Bonpre,  in  the  presence  of  the  boy  to 
whom  he  so  openly  gave  his  confidence  and  protection. 

Meanwhile,  the  good  Felix  himself  was  very  sorely 


400  •  The  Master-Christian. 

troubled.  During  his  sojourn  in  Rome,  he  had  grown 
thinner  and  paler,  and  the  fine,  spiritual  delicacy  of  his 
features  had  become  more  intensified,  while  his  clear  blue 
eyes  shone  from  under  their  deeply  arched  brows  with  a 
flashing  luminance  that  was  almost  unearthly.  Often, 
when  about  to  enter  his  room  with  unthinking  haste,  his 
brother-in-law,  Prince  Pietro,  would  see  him  kneeling 
before  his  crucifix  absorbed,  one  might  almost  say  en- 
tranced, in  prayer.  And  he  would  softly  move  away 
again  with  a  deep  sense  of  awe,  and  a  feeling  that  some 
higher  power  than  any  on  earth,  sustained  the  venerable 
prelate,  and  inspired  both  his  words  and  actions.  But 
with  all  his  patient,  sometimes  passionate  prayer,  earnest 
meditations,  and  constant  study  of  the  Gospels,  the  Car- 
dinal himself  was  more  or  less  heavy-hearted, — and  his 
Master's  phrase — "  My  soul  is  exceeding  sorrowful  even 
unto  death !  "  was  one  which  he  often  breathed  in  the 
solitude  and  extremity  of  his  own  position.  The  news 
of  the  disappearance  of  Claude  Cazeau  had  materially 
added  to  his  difficulties — and  now  he  had  been  com- 
manded, with  a  certain  peremptoriness  in  the  summons, 
to  wait  upon  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  in  a  private  audience, 
bringing  with  him  the  boy  who  could,  or  would  give  no 
further  account  of  himself  than  that  of  a  world's  waif 
and  stray.  Prepared  for  this  visit  and  arrayed  in  all  the 
splendour  befitting  his  rank  in  the  Church,  the  gentle  old 
man  looked  paler  and  more  fragile  than  ever,  and  the 
vague  trouble  he  felt  at  the  express  injunction  laid  upon 
him  concerning  Manuel,  showed  itself  in  the  deep  fur- 
rows of  anxiety  marked  upon  his  brow,  and  the  pain  in 
his  thoughtful  eyes.  Prince  Pietro's  own  man-servant 
had  assisted  him  to  dress  for  the  impending  ceremonial, 
and  just  as  the  last  folds  of  his  regal  attire  were  being 
set  in  place  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  his  apart- 
ment, and  Prince  Pietro  himself  entered. 

"A  telegram  for  you,  brother  Felix,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
brought  it  myself,  thinking  it  may  perhaps  immediately 
concern  your  visit  to  the  Pope  to-day." 

The  Cardinal,  with  a  gentle  word  of  thanks,  opened  the 
envelope  handed  to  him. 

"  Praise  be  to  God !  "  he  said  simply,  as  he  read  its  con- 
tents, "  Vergniaud  has  passed  to  die  Higher  tribunal !  " 

And  he  crossed  himself  reverentlv  on  brow  and  breast. 


The  Master-Christian.  401 

"  Dead  ?  "  exclaimed  Sovrani. 

"  To  this  world,  yes !  "  answered  Bonpre,  "  He  died 
peacefully  last  night.  This  message  is  from  his  son." 

A  faint  ironical  smile  flickered  over  Sovrani's  dark 
features. 

"  The  ban  of  excommunication  has  not  been  declared !  " 
he  said,  "  It  will  be  a  somewhat  belated  announcement!  " 

Cardinal  Bonpre  folded  the  telegram,  ready  to  take 
with  him  to  the  Vatican. 

"  The  Church  can  excommunicate  even  the  dead !  "  he 
said  sorrowfully,  "  If  such  an  extreme  measure  is  judged 
politic  it  will  doubtless  be  carried  out !  " 

"  \Yonderful  Christian  charity,"  murmured  Sovrani 
under  his  breath,  "  to  excommunicate  a  corpse !  For  that 
is  all  they  can  do.  The  Soul  of  the  man  is  God's  affair !  " 

Cardinal  Bonpre  answered  nothing,  for  just  then  the 
young  Manuel  entered  the  room,  in  readiness  to  ac- 
company his  venerable  protector  and  friend  to  the  Vat- 
ican, and  the  old  man's  eyes  rested  upon  him  with  a  wist- 
ful, wondering  trouble  and  anxiety  which  he  could  not 
conceal.  Manuel  smiled  up  at  him — that  rare  and  beauti- 
ful smile  which  was  like  sunshine  in  darkness — but  the 
Cardinal's  sad  expression  did  not  alter. 

"  The  Abbe  Vergniaud  is  no  more,"  he  said  gently,  as 
the  boy  drew  near,  "  His  sins  and  sufferings  are  ended !  " 

"  And  his  joys  have  begun !  "  answered  Manuel,  "  For 
he  set  his  life  right  with  the  world  before  he  left  it !  " 

"  Child,  you  talk  as  a  very  wise  man  might !  "  said 
Prince  Sovrani,  his  rugged  brows  smoothing  into  a 
kindly  smile.  "  But  the  unfortunate  Abbe  is  not  likely  - 
to  be  judged  in  that  way.  It  will  be  said  of  him  that  he 
scandalized  the  world  before  he  left  it !  " 

"  \Yhen  truth  is  made  scandal,  and  right  is  made 
wrong,"  said  Manuel,  "  It  will  surely  be  a  God-forgotten 
world !  " 

"  inil  be?  I  think  it  is  already!  "  said  Prince  Pietro. 
"  It  is  said  that  the  patience  of  the  Almighty  is  unwearied, 
— but  I  do  not  feel  sure  of  that  in  my  own  mind.  Science 
teaches  us  that  many  a  world  has  been  destroyed  before 
now, — and  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  our  turn  were  soon  com- 
ing!' 

Here  the  man-servant  having  completely  finished  ar- 
ranging the  Cardinal's  attire,  made  respectful  obeisance 


402  The  Master-Christian. 

and  left  the  room,  and  the  Cardinal  himself  proceeded 
into  the  adjoining  salon,  where  he  found  his  niece  Angela 
waiting  to  see  him. 

"  Dearest  uncle,"  she  said,  making  her  pretty  genu- 
flection as  he  approached  her,  "  I  must  ask  you  to  for- 
give me  for  coming  to  your  rooms  just  now  when  your 
time  is«so  much  taken  up,  and  when  I  know  you  have  to 
go  to  the  Vatican, — but  I  want  to  tell  you  one  thing  that 
may  perhaps  please  you, — my  picture  is  finished !  " 

"  Finished !  "  echoed  the  Cardinal then  tenderly 

taking  her  hands,  he  added,  "  I  congratulate  you,  dear 
child,  with  all  my  heart ! — and  I  pray  that  the  reward  of 
your  long  and  patient  toil  may  be  worthy  of  you.  And 
when  are  we  to  see  your  work  ?  " 

"  To-morrow ! "  answered  Angela,  and  her  cheeks 
flushed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled,  "  I  shall  be  busy  all  to- 
day arranging  it  for  exhibition  in  the  best  light.  To- 
morrow morning  Florian  is  to  see  it  first, — then  my  father 

will  come,  and  you and  Manuel !  "  and  she  smiled  as 

she  met  the  boy's  gentle  look, — "  And  Queen  Margherita 
has  promised  to  be  here  at  mid-day." 

"  Florian  first !  And  then  your  father !  "  said  Prince 
Pietro,  with  a  touch  of  melancholy  in  his  tone,  "  Ah  well, 
Angela  mia ! — I  suppose  it  must  always  be  so !  The  lov- 
er's love — rthe  stranger's  love, — is  greater  than  the  love  of 
years,  the  love  of  home !  Yet  sometimes,  I  fancy  that  the 
lover's  love  often  turns  out  to  be  a  passing  impulse  more 
than  a  real  truth,  and  that  the  home-love  reasserts  itself 
afterwards  with"  the  best  and  the  holiest  power !  " 

And  not  trusting  himself  to  say  more,  he  abruptly  left 
the  room.  Angela  looked  after  him,  a  little  troubled. 
The  Cardinal  took  her  hand. 

"  He  is  your  father,  dear  girl!  "  he  said  gently,  "  And 
he  cannot  but  feel  it  hard — at  first — to  be  relegated  to  a 
second  place  in  your  affections." 

Angela  sighed. 

"  I  cannot  help  it !  "  she  said,  "  Florian  is  my  very  life ! 
I  should  have  no  ambition — no  joy  in  anything  if  he  did 
not  love  me !  " 

Over  the  Cardinal's  fine  open  face  there  came  an  ex- 
pression of  great  pain. 

"  That  is  idolatry,  Angela !  "  he  said  gravely,  "  We 
make  a  grievous  mistake  when  we  love  human  beings  too 


The  Master-Christian.  403 

deeply, — for  they  are  not  the  gods  we  would  make  of 
them.  Like  ourselves,  they  are  subject  to  sin,  and  their 
sins  often  create  more  unhappiness  for  us  than  our  own !  " 

"  Ah !  But  we  can  save  our  beloved  ones  from  sin !  " 
answered  Angela,  with  a  beautiful  upward  look  of  exalta- 
tion,— "  That  is  love's  greatest  mission !  " 

"  It  is  a  mission  that  cannot  always  be  fulfilled  " — said 
the  Cardinal  sorrowfully, — then,  after  a  pause  he  added — 
'  The  Abbe  Vergniaud  is  dead." 

"  Dead !  "  And  Angela  turned  very  •  pale.  "  His 
son " 

"  His  son  sends  the  message "  and  he  handed  her 

the  telegram  he  had  received.  She  read  it,  and  returned 
it  to  him, — then  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  May  he  rest  in  peace !  "     He  died  true !  " 

"  Yes,  he  died  true.  But  remember,  child,  neither 
Truth  nor  Love  are  spared  their  crown  of  thorns.  Love 
cannot  save — would  that  it  could !  It  may  warn — it  may 
pray — it  may  watch — it  may  hope, — but  if  despite  its  ten- 
derness, the  sinner  sins,  what  can  love  do  then  ?  " 

"  It  can  pardon !  "  said  Angela  softly. 

Deeply  moved,  the  good  Felix  took  her  hand  and  patted 
it  gently. 

"  Dear  child,  God  grant  your  powers  of  forgiveness 
may  never  be  put  to  the  test!"  he  ejaculated  fervently. 
'  The  one  unforgivable  sin  according  to  our  Lord,  is 
treachery ; — may  that  never  come  your  way  !  " 

"  It  can  never  come  my  way  through  Florian !  "  an- 
swered Angela  smiling, — "  and  for  the  rest — I  do  not 
care !  " 

Manuel  stood  by  silently,  with  thoughtful,  downcast 
eyes — but  at  these  last  words  of  hers  he  raised  his  head 
and  looked  full  at  her  with  a  touch  of  melancholy  in  his 
straight  regard. 

"Ah,  that  is  wrong!"  he  said,  "You  should  care! — 
you  must  care  for  the  rest  of  the  world.  We  must  all 
learn  to  care  for  others  more  than  ourselves.  And  if 
we  will  not  learn,  God  sometimes  takes  a  hard  way  of 
teaching  us !  " 

Angela's  head  drooped  a  little.     Then  she  said, 

"  I  do  care  for  others, — I  think  perhaps  my  picture  will 
prove  that  for  me.  But  the  tenderness  I  have  for  the 
sorrows  of  the  world  is  impersonal ;  and  perhaps  if  I 


404  The  Master-Christian. 

analysed  myself  honestly,  I  feel  even  that  through  my 
love  for  Florian.  If  he  were  not  in  the  world,  I  am  afraid 
I  should  not  love  the  world  so  much !  " 

The  Cardinal  said  no  more,  for  just  then  a  servant  en- 
tered and  announced  that  His  Eminence's  carriage  \vas 
in  waiting.  Angela  bending  low  once  more  before  her 
uncle,  kissed  his  apostolic  ring,  and  said  softly — "  To- 
morrow !  " 

And  Manuel  echoed  the  word,  "  To-morrow !  "  as  she 
bade  them  both  a  smiling  "  addio  "  and  left  the  apart- 
ment. When  she  had  gone,  and  he  was  left  alone  with 
his  foundling,  the  Cardinal  stood  for  a  few  minutes  ab- 
sorbed in  silent  meditation,  mechanically  gathering  his 
robes  about  him.  After  a  pause  of  evident  hesitancy  and 
trouble,  he  approached  the  boy  and  gently  laid  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Manuel,"  he  said,  "  Do  you  understand  whom  it  is 
that  you  are  going  to  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Manuel  quickly,  "  The  Head  of  the 
Church.  One  who  holds  an  office  constituted  by  man 
long  after  Christ.  It  was  founded  upon  the  name  and 
memory  of  the  Apostle  Peter,  who  publicly  denied  all 
knowledge  of  His  Master.  That  is  how  I  understand 
the  person  I  am  to  see  to-day !  " 

Cardinal  Bonpre's  face  was  a  study  of  varying  expres- 
sions as  he  heard  these  words. 

"  My  child,  you  must  not  say  these  things  in  the  Pope's 
presence !  " 

Manuel  lifted  his  radiant  eyes  with  a  look  of  calm  con- 
fidence. 

"  Dear  friend,  you  must  trust  me !  "  he  said,  "  They 
have  sent  for  me,  have  they  not,  to  this  place  you  call  the 
Vatican  ?  They  desire  to  see  me,  and  to  question  me. 
That  being  so,  whatever  God  bids  me  say,  I  will  say; 
fearing  nothing !  " 

A  strong  tremour  shook  the  Cardinal's  nerves, — he  es- 
sayed to  find  words  of  wisdom  and  instruction,  but  some- 
how language  failed  him, — he  felt  blinded  and  strength- 
less,  and  warned  by  this  impending  sense  of  feebleness, 
made  an  instant  effort  to  brace  himself  up  and  master  the 
strange  fainting  that  threatened  to  overwhelm  him  as  it 
had  frequently  done  before.  He  succeeded,  and  without 
speaking  again  to  Manuel,  but  only  bending  one  earnest 


The  Master-Christian.  405 

look  upon  him,  he  quitted  his  rooms  and  proceeded  slowly 
down  the  great  marble  staircase  of  the  Palazzo  Sovrani, — 
a  staircase  famous  even  in  Rome  for  its  architectural 
beauty- -Manuel  stepping  lightly  at  his  side — and  reach- 
ing his  carriage,  entered  it  with  his  foundling,  and  was 
rapidly  driven  away. 

Arrived  at  the  Vatican,  the  largest  palace  in  the  world, 
which  contains,  so  historians  agree  in  saying,  no  less  than 
eleven  thousand  different  apartments  with  their  courts 
and  halls  and  corridors,  they  descended  at  the  Portone  di 
Bronzo, — the  Swiss  Guard  on  duty  saluting  as  the  Car-: 
dinal  passed  in.  On  they  went  into  the  vestibule,  chilly 
and  comfortless,  of  the  Scala  Pia ; — and  so  up  the  stone 
stairs  to  the  Cortile  do  San  Damaso,  and  thence  towards 
the  steps  which  lead  to  the  Pope's  private  apartments. 
Another  Guard  met  them  here  and  likewise  saluted, — 
in  fact,  almost  at  every  step  of  the  way,  and  on  every  land- 
ing, guards  were  on  duty,  either  standing  motionless,  or 
marching  wearily  up  and  down,  the  clank,  clank  of  their 
footsteps  waking  dismal  echoes  from  the  high  vaulted 
roofs  and  uncarpeted  stone  corridors.  At  last  they 
reached  the  Sala  Clementina,  a  vast  unfurnished  hall,  rich 
only  with  mural  decorations  and  gilding,  and  here  another 
Guard  met  them  who,  without  words,  escorted  the  Car- 
dinal and  his  young  companion  through  a  number  of 
waiting-rooms,  made  more  or  less  magnificent  by  glorious 
paintings,  wonderful  Gobelin  tapestries,  and  unique  sculp- 
tures, till  they  reached  at  last  what  is  called  the  anti- 
camera  segreto,  where  none  but  Cardinals  are  permitted 
to  enter  and  wait  for  an  audience  with  the  Supreme 
Pontiff.  At  the  door  of  this  "  Holy  of  Holies  "  stood  a 
Giurda  Nobile  on  sentry  duty, — but  he  might  have  been 
a  figure  of  painted  marble  for  all  the  notice  he  took  of 
their  approach.  As  they  passed  into  the  room,  which  was 
exceedingly  high  and  narrow,  Monsignor  Gherardi  rose 
from  a  table  near  the  window,  and  received  the  Cardinal 
with  a  kind  of  stately  gravity  which  suitably  agreed  with 
the  coldness  and  silence  of  the  general  surroundings.  A 
small  lean  man,  habited  in  black,  also  came  forward,  ex- 
changing a  few  low  whispered  words  with  Gherardi  as  he 
did  so,  and  this  individual,  after  saluting  the  Cardinal, 
mysteriously  disappeared  through  a  little  door  to  the 
right.  He  was  the  Pope's  confidential  valet, — a  person- 


406  The  Master-Christian, 

age  who  was  perhaps  more  in  the  secrets  of  everybody  and 
everything  than  even  Gherardi  himself. 

'"  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  to  keep  you  waiting  a  little 
while,"  said  Gherardi,  in  his  smooth  rich  voice,  which 
despite  its  mellow  ring  had  something  false  about  it,  like 
the  tone  produced  by  an  invisible  crack  in  a  fine  bell, 
"  Your  young  friend,"  and  here  he  swept  a  keen,  in- 
quisitive glance  over  Manuel  from  face  to  feet,  and  from 
feet  to  face  again,  "  will  perhaps  be  tired?  " 

"  I  am  never  tired  !  "  answered  Manuel. 

"  Nor  impatient  ?  "  asked  Gherardi  with  a  patronising 
air. 

"  Nor  impatient !  " 

"  Wonderful  boy !  If  you  are  never  tired  or  impatient, 
you  will  be  eminently  fitted  for  the  priesthood,"  said 
Gherardi,  his  lip  curling  with  a  faint  touch  of  derision, 
"  For  even  the  best  of  us  grow  sometimes  weary  in  well- 
doing!" 

And  turning  from  him  with  a  movement  which  implied 
both  hauteur  and  indifference,  he  addressed  himself  to 
Bonpre,  whose  face  was  clouded,  and  whose  eyes  were 
troubled. 

"  The  unfortunate  affair  of  our  friend  Vergniaud  will 
be  settled  to-day,"  he  began,  when  the  Cardinal  raised  one 
hand  with  a  gentle  solemnity. 

"  It  is  settled !  "  he  returned,  "  Not  even  the  Church 
can  intervene  between  Vergniaud  and  his  Maker  now !  " 

Gherardi  uttered  an  exclamation  of  undisguised  annoy- 
ance. 

"  Dead !  "  he  ejaculated,  his  forehead  growing  crim- 
son with  the  anger  he  inwardly  repressed "  Since 

when?" 

"  Last  night  he  passed  away,"  replied  the  Cardinal, 
"  according  to  the  telegram  I  have  just  received  from 

his  son.  But  he  has  been  dying  for  some  time,  and 

what  he  told  me  in  Paris  was  no  lie.  I  explained  his  ex- 
act position  to  you  quite  recently,  on  the  day  you  visited 
my  niece  at  her  studio.  He  had  a  serious  valvular  dis- 
ease of  the  heart, — he  might,  as  the  doctors  said,  have 
lived,  at  the  utmost,  two  years — but  the  excitement  of 
recent  events  has  evidently  proved  too  much  for  him.  As 
I  told  you,  he  felt  that  his  death  might  occur  at  any  mo- 
ment, and  he  did  not  wish  to  leave  the  world  under  a 


The  Master-Christian.  407 

false  impression  of  his  character.  I  trust  that  now  the 
Holy  Father  may  be  inclined  to  pardon  him,  in  death,  if 
not  in  life !  " 

Gherardi  walked  up  and  down  the  narrow  room  impa- 
tiently. 

"  I  doubt  it !  "  he  said  at  last,  "  I  very  much  doubt  it ! 
The  man  may  be  dead,  but  the  scandal  he  caused  re- 
mains. And  his  death  has  made  the  whole  position  very 
much  more  difficult  for  you,  my  lord  Cardinal !  For  as 
Vergniaud  is  not  alive  to  endure  the  penalty  of  his 
offence,  it  is  probable  you  may  have  to  suffer  for  having 
condoned  it !  " 

Felix  Bonpre  bent  his  head  gently. 

"  I  shall  be  ready  and  willing  to  suffer  whatever  God 
commands !  "  he  answered,  "  For  I  most  faithfully  be- 
lieve that  nothing  can  injure  my  soul  while  it  rests,  as  I 
humbly  place  it,  in  His  Holy  keeping !  " 

Gherardi  paused  in  his  pacing  to  and  fro,  and  gazed  at 
the  frail  figure,  and  fine  old  face  before  him,  with  min- 
gled compassion  and  curiosity. 

"  You  should  have  lived  in  the  early  days  of  the  Faith," 
he  said,  "  You  are  too  literal — too  exact  in  your  follow- 
ing of  Christian  ethics.  That  sort  of  thing  does  not 
work  nowadays.  Dogma  must  be  maintained !  " 

"  What  is  dogma  ?  "  asked  Manuel  suddenly. 

Gherardi  gave  him  a  careless  glance. 

"  Cardinal  Bonpre  must  teach  you  that  in  extenso ! "  he 
replied,  with  a  little  smile — "  But  briefly, — dogma  is  an 
opinion  or  theory  derived  from  the  Gospels,  and  formu- 
lated as  doctrine,  by  the  Church." 

"  An  opinion  or  theory  of  man,  founded  on  the  words 
of  Christ?  "  said  Manuel. 

"  Just  so !  " 

"  But  if  Christ  was  divine,  should  any  man  presume  to 
formulate  a  theory  on  what  He  Himself  said  ?  "  asked 
Manuel.  "Are  not  his  own  plain  words  enough?" 

Gherardi  stared  at  the  young  speaker  half  angrily. 

"  His  own  plain  words  enough  ?  "  he  repeated  mechani- 
cally. "  What  do  you  mean,  boy?  " 

"  I  mean,"  answered  Manuel  simply,  "  that  if  He  were 
truly  a  Manifestation  of  God  in  Himself,  as  the  Church 
declares  Him  to  be,  /  wonder  that  man  can  dare  to  formu- 
late mere  dogma  on  God's  own  utterance!" 


408  The  Master-Christian. 

There  was  a  dead  pause.  After  a  few  minutes  of  chill 
silence  Gherardi  addressed  the  Cardinal. 

"  Your  young  friend  has  a  dangerous  tongue !  "  he  said 
sternly,  "  You  had  best  warn  or  command  him  that  he  set 
a  guard  upon  it  in  the  Holy  Father's  presence !  " 

"  There  is  no  need  to  either  warn  or  command  me !  " 
said  Manuel,  a  smile  irradiating  his  fair  face  as  he  met 
the  angry  eyes  of  Gherardi  with  the  full  calmness  of  hi"? 
own — "  I  have  been  sent  for,  and  I  am  here.  Had  I  not 
been  sent  for  I  should  not  have  come.  Now  that  I  have 
been  called  to  answer  for  myself  I  will  answer, — with 
truth  and  without  fear.  For  what  can  any  man  cause  me 
to  suffer  if  I  am  to  myself  true  ?  " 

Another  heavy  pause  ensued.  An  invisible  something 
was  in  the  air, — a  sense  of  that  vast  supernatural  which 
is  deeply  centered  at  the  core  of  the  natural  universe, — a 
grave  mystery  which  seemed  to  envelop  all  visible  things 
with  a  sudden  shadow  of  premonitory  fear.  The  silence 
prevailing  was  painful — almost  terrible.  A  great  ormolu 
clock  in  the  room,  one  of  the  Holy  Father's  "  Jubilee  " 
gifts,  ticked  the  minutes  slowly  away  with  a  jewel-stud- 
ded pendulum,  which  in  its  regular  movements  to  and  fro 
sounded  insolently  obtrusive  in  such  a  stillness.  Gher- 
ardi abstractedly  raised  his  eyes  to  a  great  ivory  crucifix 
which  was  displayed  upon  the  wall  against  a  background 
of  rich  purple  velvet, — Manuel  was  standing  immedi- 
ately in  front  of  it,  and  the  tortured  head  of  the  carven 
Christ  drooped  over  him  as  though  in  a  sorrow-stricken 
benediction.  A  dull  anger  began  to  irritate  Gherardi's 
usually  well-tempered  nerves,  and  he  was  searching  in 
his  mind  for  some  scathing  sentence  wherewith  to  over- 
whelm and  reprove  the  confident  ease  of  the  boy,  when 
the  door  leading  to  the  Pope's  apartments  was  slowly 
pushed  open  to  admit  the  entrance  of  Monsignor  Moretti. 
Cardinal  Bonpre  had  not  seen  him  since  the  day  of  the 
Vergniaud  scandal  in  Paris, — and  a  faint  colour  came 
into  his  pale  cheeks  as  he  noted  the  air  of  overbearing 
condescension  and  authority  with  which  Moretti,  here  on 
his  own  ground,  as  one  of  the  favorites  of  the  Pope, 
greeted  him. 

'  The  Holy  Father  is  ready  to  receive  you,"  he  said, 
"  But  I  regret  to  inform  your  Eminence  that  His  Holiness 
can  see  no  way  to  excuse  or  condone  the  grave  offence  of 


The  Master-Christian.  409 

the  Abbe  Yergniaud, — moreover,  the  fact  of  the  sin-be- 
gotten son  being  known  to  the  world  as  Gys  Grandit, 
makes  it  more  than  ever  necessary  that  the  ban  of  ex- 
communication should  be  passed  upon  him.  Especially, 
as  those  uninstructed  in  the  faith,  are  under  the  delusion 
that  the  penalty  of  excommunication  has  become  more  or 
less  obsolete,  and  we  have  now  an  opportunity  for  making 
publicly  known  the  truth  that  it  still  exists,  and  may  be 
used  by  .the  Church  in  extreme  situations,  when  judged 
politic  and  fitting." 

'''  Then  in  this  case  the  Church  must  excommunicate 
the  dead  !  "  said  the  Cardinal  quietly. 

Moretti's  face  turned  livid. 

"  Dead  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  do  not  believe  it !  " 

Silently  Bonpre  handed  him  the  telegram  received  that 
morning.  Moretti  read  it,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  rage. 

"  How  do  I  know  this  is  not  a  trick  ?  "  he  said,  "  The 
accursed  atheist  of  a  son  may  have  telegraphed  a  lie !  " 

"  I  hardly  think  he  would  condescend  to  that !  "  re- 
turned the  Cardinal  calmly,  "  It  would  not  be  worth  his 
while.  You  must  remember,  that  to  one  of  his  particular 
views.  Church  excommunication,  either  for  his  father  or 
himself,  would  mean  nothing.  He  makes  himself  re- 
sponsible for  his  conduct  to  God  only.  And  whatever 
his  faults  he  certainly  believes  in  God !  " 

Moretti  read  through  the  telegram  again. 

"  We  must  place  this  before  His  Holiness,"  he  said, 
"  And  it  will  very  seriously  annoy  him !  I  fear  your 
Eminence,"  here  he  gave  a  quick  meaning  look  at  Bonpre, 
"  will  be  all  the  more  severely  censured  for  having  par- 
doned the  Abbe's  sins." 

"  Is  it  wrong  to  forgive  sinners  ?  "  asked  Manuel,  his 
clear  young  voice  breaking  through  the  air  like  a  silver 
bell  rung  suddenly, — "  And  when  one  cannot  reach  the 
guilty,  should  one  punish  the  innocent  ?  " 

Moretti  scowled  fiercely  at  the  fair  candid  face  turned 
enquiringly  near  his  own. 

"  You  are  too  young  to  ask  questions !  "  he  said  roughly 
— "  Wait  to  be  questioned  yourself — and  think  twice — aye 
three  times  before  you  answer !  " 

The  bright  expression  of  the  boy's  countenance  seemed 
to  become  intensified  as  he  heard. 

"  '  Take  no  thought  how  or  what  ye  shall  speak,  for 


4i o  The  Master-Christian. 

it  shall  be  given  you  in  that  same  hour  what  ye  shall 
speak !  '  "  he  said  softly — "  '  For  it  is  not  ye  that  speakf 
but  the  Spirit  of  your  Father  which  speaketh  in  you ! ' ' 

Moretti  flushed  angrily,  and  his  hand  involuntarily 
clenched. 

"  Those  words  were  addressed  by  our  Lord  to  His 
Apostles,"  he  retorted — "  Apostles,  of  whom  our  Holy 
Father  the  Pope  is  the  one  infallible  representative.  They 
were  not  spoken  to  an  ignorant  lad  who  barely  knows  his 
catechism !  " 

"  Yet  were  not  the  Apostles  themselves  told,"  went  on 
Manuel  steadily,  "  to  be  humble  as  ignorant  children  if 
they  would  enter  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  ?  And  did  not 
Christ  say,  '  Whoso  offendeth  one  of  these  little  ones 
which  believe  in  Me,  it  were  better  for  him  that  a  mill- 
stone were  hanged  about  his  neck,  and  that  he  were 
drowned  in  the  depths  of  the  sea ! '  I  am  sure  there  are 
many  such  little  ones  who  believe  in  Christ, — perhaps 
too,  without  knowing  any  catechism, — and  even  Apostles 
must  beware  of  offending  them !  " 

"  Does  this  boy  follow  your  teaching  in  the  quoting  of 
Scripture  with  so  glib  a  tongue  ?  "  asked  Moretti,  turn- 
ing sharply  round  upon  the  Cardinal. 

Bonpre  returned  his  angry  look  with  one  of  undisturbed 
serenity. 

"  My  son,  I  have  taught  him  nothing !  "  he  replied,  "  I 
have  no  time  as  yet — and  I  may  add — no  inclination,  to 
become  his  instructor.  He  speaks  from  his  own  nature." 

"  It  is  a  nature  that  needs  training !  "  said  Gherardi, 
smiling  blandly,  and  silencing  by  a  gesture  Moretti's 
threatening  outburst  of  wrath,  "  To  quote  Scripture 
rashly,  without  due  consideration  for  the  purpose  to  which 
it  is  to  be  applied,  does  not  actually  constitute  an  offence, 
but  it  displays  a  reprehensible  disregard  and  ignorance  of 
theology.  However,  theology,"  here  he  smiled  still  more 
broadly,  "  is  a  hard  word  for  the  comprehension  of  the 
young !  This  poor  little  lad  cannot  be  expected  to  grasp 
its  meaning." 

Manuel  raised  his  bright  eyes  and  fixed  them  steadily 
on  the  priest's  countenance. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  he  said  quietly,  "  I  understand  it  perfectly ! 
Originally  it  meant  the  Word  or  Discourse  of  God, — it 
has  now  come  to  mean  the  words  or  discourses,  or  quar- 


The  Master-Christian.  411 

rels  and  differences  of  men  on  the  things  of  God !  But 
God's  Word  remains  God's  Word — eternally,  invincibly! 
Xo  man  can  alter  it,  and  Christ  preached  it  so  plainly 
that  the  most  simple  child  cannot  fail  to  understand  it !  " 

Moretti  was  about  to  speak  when  again  Gherardi  in- 
terrupted him. 

"  Patience !  Patience !  "  he  said  soothingly,  "  Per- 
chance we  must  say  " — this  with  a  flash  of  derision  from 
his  dark  crafty  eyes,  "  that  a  prophet  hath  arisen  in 
Israel !  Listen  to  me,  boy !  If  Christ  spoke  as  plainly  as 
you  say,  and  if  all  He  preached  could  be  understood  by 
the  people,  why  should  He  have  founded  a  Church  to 
teach  His  doctrine?" 

"  He  did  not  found  a  Church,"  answered  Manuel,  "  He 
tried  to  make  a  Human  Brotherhood.  He  trusted  twelve 
men.  They  all  forsook  Him  in  His  hour  of  need,  and 
one  betrayed  Him !  When  He  died  and  arose  again  from 
the  dead,  they  sought  to  give  themselves  a  Divine  stand- 
ing on  His  Divinity.  They  preached  His  Word  to  the 
world — true! — but  they  preached  their  own  as  well! 
Hence  the  Church !  " 

Moretti's  angry  eyes  rolled  in  his  head  with  an  excess 
of  wrr.th  and  amazement. 

"  Surely  some  evil  spirit  possesses  this  boy !  "  he  ex- 
claimed irately,  "  Retro  me  Sathanas!  He  is  a  rank 
heretic — a  heathen !  And  yet  he  lives  in  the  companion- 
ship of  Cardinal  Felix  Bonpre !  " 

Both  priests  looked  at  the  Cardinal  in  angry  astonish- 
ment, but  he  stood  silent,  one  wrinkled  hand  holding  up 
the  trailing  folds  of  his  scarlet  robe, — his  head  slightly 
bent,  and  his  whole  attitude  expressive  of  profound  pa- 
tience and  resignation.  Manuel  turned  his  eyes  upon 
him  and  smiled  tenderly. 

"  It  is  not  the  fault  of  Cardinal  Bonpre  that  I  think  my 
own  thoughts,"  he  said,  "  or  that  I  speak  as  I  have  spoken 
from  the  beginning.  He  found  me  lost  and  alone  in  the 
world, — and  he  sheltered  me,  knowing  not  whom  he 
sheltered !  Let  what  blame  there  is  in  me  therefore  be 
mine  alone,. and  not  his  or  another's!  " 

His  young  voice,  so  full  of  sweetness,  seemed  to  melt 
the  cold  and  heavy  silence  into  vibrations  of  warm  feeling, 
and  a  sudden  sense  of  confusion  and  shame  swept  over  the 
callous  and  calculating  minds  of  the  two  men,  miscalled 


412  The  Master-Christian. 

priests,  as  they  listened.  But  before  they  could  determine 
or  contrive  an  answer,  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  the 
lean  man  in  black  entered,  and  pausing  on  the  threshold 
bowed  slightly, — then  raising  his  hand  with  a  gesture 
which  invited  all  to  follow  him,  turned  again  and  walked 
on  in  front, — then  crossing  a  small  antechamber,  he  drew 
aside  a  long  curtain  of  purple  damask  heavily  fringed  with 
gold,  and  opened  a  farther  door.  Here  he  stood  back, 
and  allowed  Cardinal  Bonpre  to  pass  in  first,  attended  by 
Manuel, — Monsignori  Gherardi  and  Moretti  followed. 
And  then  the  valet,  closing  the  door  behind  them,  and 
pulling  the  rich  curtain  across,  sat  down  himself  close 
outside  it  to  be  within  call  when  the  Holy  Father  should 
summon  his  attendance  by  means  of  a  bell  which  hung 
immediately  over  his  head.  And  to  while  away  the  time 
he  pulled  from  his  pocket  that  day's  issue  of  a  well-known 
Republican  paper, — one  of  the  most  anti-Papal  tendency, 
thereby  showing  that  his  constant  humble  attendance 
upon  the  Head  of  the  Church  had  not  made  him  otherwise 
than  purely  human,  or  eradicated  from  his  nature  thai 
peculiar  quality  with  which  most  of  us  are  endowed, 
namely,  the  perversity  of  spirit  which  leads  us  often  to 
say  and  do  things  which  are  least  expected  of  us.  The 
Pope's  confidential  valet  was  not  exempt  from  this  failing. 
He  like  the  Monsignori,  enjoyed  the  exciting  rush  and 
secret  risk  of  money  speculation, — he  also  had  his  little 
schemes  of  self-advancement ;  and,  as  is  natural  to  all 
who  are  engaged  in  a  certain  kind  of  service,  he  took  care 
to  read  everything  that  could  be  said  by  outsiders  against 
the  person  or  persons  whom  he  served.  Thus,  despite 
the  important  capacity  he  filled,  he  was  not  a  grade  higher 
than  the  ordinary  butler,  who  makes  it  his  business  to 
know  all  the  peccadilloes  and  failings  of  his  master.  "  No 
man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet "  is  a  very  true  axiom, — and 
even  the  Head  of  the  Church,  the  Manifestation  of  the 
Divine,  the  "  Infallible  in  Council,"  was  a  mere  Nothing 
to  the  little  man  in  black  who  had  the  power  to  insist  on 
His  Holiness  changing  a  soiled  cassock  for  a  clean  one. 


XXVIII. 

THERE  are  certain  moments  in  life  which  seem  weighted 
with  the  history  of  ages — when  all  the  past,  present  and 
future  merge  into  the  one  omnipresent  Now, — moments, 
which  if  we  are  able  to  live  through  them  with  courage, 
may  decide  a  very  eternity  of  after-glory — but  which,  if 
we  fail  to  comprehend  their  mission,  pass,  taking  with 
them  the  last  opportunity  of  all  good  that  shall  ever  be 
granted  to  us  in  this  life.  Such  a  moment  appeared,  to 
the  reflective  mind  of  Cardinal  Bonpre,  to  have  presented 
itself  to  him,  as  for  the  second  time  in  ten  days,  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,  the  pale 
and  aged  man  with  the  deep  dark  eyes  set  in  such  cavern- 
ous sockets,  that  as  they  looked  out  on  the  world  through 
that  depth  of  shadow,  seemed  more  like  great  jewels  in  the 
head  of  a  galvanised  skeleton  than  the  eyes  of  a  living 
human  being.  On  this  occasion  the  Pope  was  enthroned 
in  a  kind  of  semi-state,  on  a  gilded  chair  covered  with 
crimson  velvet;  and  a  rich  canopy  of  the  same  material, 
embroidered  and  fringed  with  gold,  drooped  in  heavy 
folds  above  him.  Attired  in  the  usual  white, — white  cas- 
sock, white  skull  cap,  and  white  sash  ornamented  with  the 
emblematic  keys  of  St.  Peter,  embroidered  in  gold  thread 
at  the  ends, — his  unhandsome  features,  pallid  as  marble, 
and  seemingly  as  cold, — bloodless  everywhere,  even  to  the 
lips, — suggested  with  dreadful  exactitude  a  corpse  in  bur- 
ial clothes  just  lifted  from  its  coffin  and  placed  stiffly  up- 
right in  a  sitting  position.  Involuntarily  Cardinal  Bon- 
pre, as  he  made  the  usual  necessary  genuflections, 
thought,  with  a  shrinking  interior  sense  of  horror  at  the 
profanity  of  his  own  idea,  that  the  Holy  Father  as  he 
then  appeared,  might  have  posed  to  a  painter  of  allego- 
ries, as  the  frail  ghost  of  a  dead  Faith.  For  he  looked  so 
white  and  slender  and  fragile  and  transparent, — he  sat  so 
rigidly,  so  coldly,  without  a  movement  or  a  gesture,  that 
it  seemed  as  if  the  touch  of  a  hand  might  break  him  into 
atoms,  so  brittle  and  delicate  a  figure  of  clay  was  he. 


4i 4  The  Master-Christian. 

When  he  spoke,  his  harsh  voice,  issuing  from  the  long 
thin  lips  which  scarcely  moved,  even  in  utterance,  was 
startling  in  its  unmelodious  loudness,  the  more  so  when 
its  intonation  was  querulous,  as  now. 

"  It  is  regrettable,  my  lord  Cardinal,"  he  said  slowly, 
keeping  his  dark  eyes  immovably  fixed  on  the  venerable 
Felix, — "  that  I  should  be  compelled  to  send  for  you  so 
soon  again  on  the  same  matters  which,  since  your  arrival 
in  Rome,  have  caused  me  so  much  anxiety.  This  miracle, 
— of  which  you  are  declared  to  be  the  worker, — though 
for  some  inscrutable  reason,  you  persist  in  denying  your 
own  act, — is  not  yet  properly  authenticated.  And,  to 
make  the  case  worse,  it  seems  that  the  unfortunate  man, 
Claude  Cazeau,  whom  we  entrusted  with  our  instructions 
to  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  has  suddenly  disappeared, 
leaving  no  trace.  Naturally  there  are  strong  suspicions 
that  he  has  met  with  a  violent  death, — perhaps  at  the 
hands  of  the  Freemasons,  who  are  ever  at  work  conspir- 
ing against  the  Faith, — or  else  through  the  intrigues  of 
the  so-called  '  Christian  Democrats,'  of  whom  '  Gys  Gran- 
dit '  is  a  leader.  In  any  case,  it  is  most  reprehensible  that 
you,  a  Cardinal-prince  of  -the  Church,  should  have  per- 
mitted yourself  to  become  involved  in  such  a  doubtful 
business.  The  miracle  may  have  taken  place, — but  if  so, 
you  should  have  no  cause  to  deny  your  share  in  it;  and 
however  much  you  may  be  gifted  with  the  power  of  heal- 
ing, I  cannot  reconcile  your  duty  to  us  with  the  Vergn- 
iaud  scandal !  Since  you  were  here  last,  I  have  investi- 
gated that  matter  thoroughly, — I  have  read  a  full  report 
of  the  blasphemous  address  the  Abbe  preached  from  his 
pulpit  in  Paris,  and  I  cannot,  no  I  cannot " — here  the 
Pope  raised  his  thin  white  hand  with  a  gesture  of  menace 
that  was  curiously  powerful  for  one  so  seemingly  frail — 
"  I  cannot  forgive  or  forget  the  part  you  have  taken  in 
this  deplorable  affair !  " 

The  Cardinal  looked  up  with  a  touch  of  pain  and  pro- 
test. 

"  Holy  Father,  I  strove  to  obey  the  command  of  Christ 
-'  Forgive  that  ye  may  be  forgiven  ' ! — I  cannot  be  sorry 
that  I  did  so  obey  it ; — for  now  the  offender  is  beyond  the 
reach  of  either  punishment  or  absolution.  He  must  an- 
swer for  his  deeds  to  God  alone !  " 

The  Pope  turned  his  eyes  slowly  round  in  his  waxen- 


The  Master-Christian.  415 

like  head  to  Gherardi — then  to  Moretti — and  seeing  con- 
firmation of  the  news  in  their  looks,  fixed  them  again  as 
immovably  as  before  upon  the  Cardinal.  The  faint 
shadow  of  a  cold  smile  flickered  on  his  long  slit-like 
mouth. 

"  Dead !  "  he  murmured,  and  he  nodded  slowly,  and 
beat  with  one  finger  on  the  back  of  the  other  hand,  as 
though  keeping  time  mechanically  to  some  funeral  march 
in  his  brain.  "  Dead !  A  fortunate  thing  for  him !  An 
escape  from  worse  than  death,  so  far  as  this  life  is  con- 
cerned !  But  what  of  the  next  ? — '  where  the  worm  dieth 
not  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched ! ' :  And  here  the  rep- 
resentative of  St.  Peter  smiled  pallidly.  "  Dead ! — but 
his  works  live  after  him ;  and  his  sin-begotten  son  also 
lives,  to  spread  his  pernicious  writings  through  the  world, 
and  incite  the  already  disobedient  to  further  license. 
Therefore  the  Church  must  still  publicly  condemn  his 
memory,  as  a  warning  to  the  faithful.  And  you,  Car- 
dinal Bonpre,  must  receive  from  us  a  necessary  measure 
of  correction,  for  having  pardoned  one  who  in  his  last  dis- 
course to  humanity  attacked  the  Church  and  slandered 
it.  To  one  of  your  eminence  and  reputation,  the  lesson 
may  seem  hard,  but  a  chastening  reproof  can  but  purify 
the  spirit,  and  free  it  from  that  pride  which  apes  hu- 
mility !  " 

The  Cardinal  bent  his  head  patiently  and  remained 
silent. 

Monsignor  Moretti  advanced  a  step  towards  the  Papal 
throne. 

"  The  boy  " — he  began. 

A  slight  animation  warmed  the  chill  lifelessness  of  the 
Pope's  features. 

"  True !  I  had  almost  forgotten !  "  he  said.  Then  to 
the  Cardinal,  "  Where  is  the  boy  you  rescued  from  the 
streets,  who  lives  with  you,  and  who  witnessed  the  mira- 
cle at  Rouen  ?  " 

Manuel  had  till  now  stood  aside,  half  hidden  in  the 
shadow  of  the  crimson  damask  which,  falling  from  ceil- 
ing to  floor  in  rich  luxurious  folds,  draped  the  corners  of 
the  room,  but  at  these  words  he  advanced  at  once. 

"  I  am  here !  "  he  said. 

Fronting  the  Pope,  with  his  fair  head  thrown  back,  and 
his  blue  eyes  flashing  with  all  the  soul-light  of  a  swift,  un- 


416  The  Master-Christian. 

warped  intelligence,  he  stood, — and  the  white  shrunken 
figure  of  the  old  man  in  the  gilded  chair  raised  itself  as 
if  by  some  interior  electric  force,  slowly,  slowly — higher 
and  higher — the  deep-set  old  eyes  staring  into  the  bril- 
liant youthful  ones — staring — staring  till  they  seemed  to 
protrude  and  tremble  under  their  shelving  brows,  like  the 
last  sparks  of  a  flame  'about  to  fall  into  extinction.  Gher- 
ardi  made  a  quick  step  forward. 

"  My  lord  Cardinal !  "  he  said  significantly,  "  Should 
not  your  waif  and  stray  have  been  taught  how  to  comport 
himself  before  he  came  here?  He  does  not  kneel  to  the 
Holy  Father !  " 

The  Cardinal  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  Manuel 
stayed  him  by  a  slight  gesture. 

"  I  may  not  kneel  to  any  man !  "  he  said,  "  But  to  God 
only !  For  it  is  written,  '  Call  no  man  your  Father  upon 
the  earth,  for  One  is  your  Father  which  is  in  Heaven. 
Neither  be  ye  called  Masters,  for  One  is  your  Master, 
even  Christ.'  How  then,"  and  he  came  nearer  to  the 
Pope's  foot-stool,  "  can  you  be  called  '  Father '  ?  or 
'  Holy  '  ?  For  there  is  none  Holy  but  God !  " 

The  deep  silence  which  had  fallen  like  a  spell  upon  them 
all  in  the  antechamber,  fell  now  with  redoubled  impres- 
siveness.  The  Pope,  gripping  the  arms  of  his  gilded 
chair,  forced  himself  fully  upright,  and  his  lips  trembled. 

"  Whence  came  you,  and  of  what  parentage  are  you  ?  " 
he  asked  slowly,  enunciating  his  words  with  even  more 
than  his  usual  harsh  distinctness. 

"  That  is  my  own  secret !  "  answered  the  boy — "  The 
Cardinal  accepted  me  without  question !  " 

"  Which  is  but  a  fresh  proof  of  the  Cardinal's  unwis- 
dom," said  the  Pope  severely,  "And  we  shall  not  follow 
his  example  in  this  or  in  any  other  matter !  "  And  turn- 
ing to  Moretti  he  enquired,  "  Does  this  boy  understand  he 
is  here  as  a  witness  to  the  miracle  effected  at  Rouen  ?  " 

"  As  a  witness  to  the  Truth — yes !  I  understand !  " 
said  Manuel  quickly,  before  Moretti  could  answei, 
"  The  miracle  was  no  miracle !  " 

"  No  miracle !  "  exclaimed  the  Pope,  moved  at  last 
from  his  usual  inflexibility,  "  Do  you  hear  that,  Do- 
menico?  "  turning  excitedly  to  Gherardi,  "  No  miracle!  " 

"  No  miracle !  "  repeated  Manuel,  steadily— "  Nothing 
but  the  law  of  Nature  working  in  response  to  the  law  of 


The  Master-Christian.  417 

God,  which  is  Love !  The  child  was  healed  of  his  in- 
firmity by  the  power  of  unselfish  prayer.  Are  we  not  told 
'  Ask  and  ye  shall  receive  '  ?  But  the  asking  must  be 
pure !  The  prayer  must  be  untainted  by  self-interest ! 
God  does  not  answer  prayer  that  is  paid  for  in  this  world's 
coin !  Xo  miracle  was  ever  wrought  for  a  fee !  Only 
when  perfect  love  and  perfect  faith  exist  between  the 
creature  and  the  Creator,  are  all  things  possible !  " 

A  nervous  twitching  of  the  Pope's  features  showed  his 
suppressed  irritation  at  this  reply. 

"  The  boy  jests  with  us !  "  he  said  angrily,  "  He  de- 
fends his  benefactor,  but  he  either  does  not  understand, 
or  else  is  regardless  of  our  authority !  " 

"  What,  do  you  not  also  believe  ?  "  asked  Manuel,  plac- 
ing one  foot  on  the  first  step  of  the  Pope's  throne,  and 
looking  him  straightly  in  the  face,  "  Do  you  not  even 
affirm  that  God  answers  prayers?  Do  you  not  pray?  Do 
you  not  assert  that  you  yourself  are  benefited  and  helped 
— nay,  even  kept  alive  by  the  prayers  of  the  faithful? 
Then  why  should  you  doubt  that  Cardinal  Bonpre  has,  by 
his  prayer,  rescued  one  life — the  life  of  a  little  child  ?  Is 
not  your  Church  built  up  for  prayer?  Do  you  not  com- 
mand it  ?  Do  you  not  even  insist  upon  the  '  vain  repe- 
titions '  which  Christ  forbade  ?  Do  you  not  summon  the 
people  to  pray  in  public? — though  Christ  bade  all  who 
truly  sought  to  follow  Him  to  pray  in  secret  ?  And  amid 
all  the  false  prayers,  the  unthinking,  selfish  petitions,  the 
blasphemous  demands  for  curses  and  confusion  to  fall 
upon  enemies  and  contradictors,  the  cowardly  cryings  for 
pardon  from  sinners  who  do  not  repent,  that  are  sent  up 
to  the  throne  of  the  Most  High, — is  it  marvellous  that 
one  prayer,  pure  of  all  self  and  sophistry,  ascending  to 
God,  simply  to  ask  for  the  life  of  a  child  should  be  heard 
and  granted  ?  " 

His  voice  rang  through  the  silence  with  a  pure  intona- 
tion, unlike  any  human  voice  in  the  world — and  as  he 
spoke,  the  Pope  slowly  drew  back  in  his  chair,  further 
and  further  away  from  the  young,  beautiful  face  that 
confronted  his  own  so  steadily.  The  dumb  sense  of 
stupefaction  that  had  before  possessed  Gherardi  and 
Moretti  in  the  presence  of  this  child,  seized  them 
again  now, — and  slow  tears  welled  up  into  the  Car- 
dinal's eyes,  as,  clasping  his  withered  hands,  he  waited 


4i 8  The  Master-Christian. 

in  fear  and  awe,  listening  and  wondering, — over- 
whelmed by  the  strangeness  of  the  scene.  Like  a 
shrunken  white  mummy  set  in  a  gilded  sarcophagus, 
the  representative  of  St.  Peter  huddled  himself  to- 
gether, reflections  of  the  daylight  on  the  crimson  hang- 
ings around  him  casting  occasional  gleams  of  crim- 
son athwart  his  bony  hands  and  cadaverous  features ; — 
while  on  the  first  step  of  his  throne  the  aerial  form  of  the 
beautiful  boy,  with  his  fair  face,  full  flashing  eyes,  and 
radiant  hair,  stood  like  an  Angel  suddenly  descended  at 
the  portal  of  the  mummy's  tomb. 

"  Faith  must  surely  be  weaker  in  these  days  than  in 
the  days  of  Christ,"  continued  Manuel,  "  The  disciples 
were  not  always  wise  or  brave ;  but  they  believed  in  the 
power  of  their  Master !  You,^with  so  many  centuries 
of  prayer  behind  you, — will  surely  not  say  as  John  did — 
'  Master,  we  saw  one  casting  out  devils  in  Thy  name,  and 
he  followeth  not  us ! '  Because  this  miracle  is  unex- 
pected and  exceptional,  do  you  say  of  your  good  Car- 
dinal, '  He  followeth  not  us  '  ?  Remember  how  Christ 
answered, — '  Forbid  him  not,  for  there  is  no  man  which 
shall  do  a  miracle  in  my  name  that  can  speak  evil 
of  me ! ' : 

Still  the  same  silence  reigned.  A  shaft  of  sunlight 
falling  through  the  high  oriel  window,  touched  the  boy's 
hair  with  a  Pentecostal  flame  of  glory. 

"  You  sent  for  me,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  have  come ! 
They  say  I  must  be  taught.  Will  you  teach  me  ?  I  would 
know  many  things !  Tell  me  for  one,  why  are  You  here, 
shut  away  from  the  cities,  and  the  people?  Should  you 
not  be  among  them?  Why  do  you  stay  here  all  alone? 
You  must  be  very  unhappy !  " 

A  sudden  quivering  light  illumined  the  jewel-like  dark- 
eyes  of  the  seeming  mummy  in  the  chair — its  lips  moved 
— but  no  sound  came  from  them. 

"  To  be  here  all  alone !  "  went  on  Manuel,  "  And  a 
whole  world  outside  waiting  to  be  comforted !  To  have 
vast  wealth  lying  about  you  unused — with  millions  and 
millions  of  poor,  starving,  struggling,  dying  creatures, 
near  at  hand,  cursing  the  God  whom  they  have  never 
been  taught  to  know  or  to  bless !  To  be  safely  sheltered 
while  others  are  in  danger!  To  know  that  even  kings 
and  emperors  are  trembling  on  their  thrones  because  of 


The  Master-Christian.  419 

the  evil  days  that  are  drawing  near  in  punishment  for 

evil  deeds ! to  feel  the  great  pulsating  ache  of  the 

world's  heart  beating  through  every  hour  of  time,  and 
never  to  stretch  forth  a  hand  of  consolation !  Surely  this 
must  make  you  very  sad !  Will  you  not  come  out  ivith 
me?  " 

With  a  strong  effort  the  Pope  raised  himself  and  looked 
into  the  pleading  Angel-face.  With  his  sudden  move- 
ment, Gherardi  and  Moretti  also  stirred  from  their  frozen 
attitudes  of  speechless  amazement,  and  would  have  ap- 
proached, but  that  the  Pope  signed  them  away  with  so 
fierce  and  impatient  a  gesture  that  they  shrank  back  ap- 
palled. And  still  he  gazed  at  Manuel  as  if  his  very  soul 
were  passing  through  his  eyes. 

"Come  out  with  you!"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse,  faint 
whisper "  Come  out  with  you !  " 

"  Yes ! — come  out  with  me !  "  repeated  Manuel,  his  ac- 
cents vibrating  with  a  strange  compelling  sweetness, 
"  Come  out  and  see  the  poor  lying  at  the  great  gates  of 

St.  Peter's — the  lame,  the  halt,  the  blind come  and 

heal  them  by  a  touch,  a  prayer !  You  can,  you  must,  you 
shall  heal  them! — if  you  will!  Pour  money  into  the  thin 
hands  of  the  starving ! — come  with  me  into  the  miserable 
places  of  the  world, — come  and  give  comfort!  Come 
freely  into  the  courts  of  kings,  and  see  how  the  brows 
ache  under  the  crowns ! — and  the  hearts  break  beneath 
the  folds  of  velvet  and  ermine !  Why  stand  in  the  way 
of  happiness,  or  deny  even  emperors  peace  when  they 
crave  it  ?  Your  mission  is  to  comfort,  not  to  condemn ! 
You  need  no  throne !  You  want  no  kingdom ! — no  set- 
tled place — no  temporal  power !  Enough  for  you  to  work 
and  live  as  the  poorest  of  all  Christ's  ministers, — without 
pomp,  without  ostentation  or  public  ceremonial,  but  sim- 
ply clothed  in  pure  holiness !  So  shall  God  love  you 
more !  So  shall  you  pass  unscathed  through  the  thick 
of  battle,  and  command  Brotherhood  in  place  of  Murder ! 
Go  out  and  welcome  Progress ! — take  Science  by  the 
hand! — encourage  Intellect! — for  all  these  things  are  of 
God,  and  are  God's  gifts  divine !  Live  as  Christ  lived, 
teaching  the  people  personally  and  openly ; — loving  them, 
pitying  them,  sharing  their  joys  and  sorrows,  blessing 
their  little  children !  Deny  yourself  to  no  man ; — and 
make  of  this  cold  temple  in  which  you  now  dwell  self- 


420  The  Master-Christian. 

imprisoned,  a  home  and  refuge  for  the  friendless  and  the 
poor!  Come  out  with  me!" 

As  he  thus  spoke,  with  a  living,  breathing  enthusiasm 
of  entreaty,  which  might  have  moved  even  the  dry  bones 
in  the  valley  of  the  prophet's  vision  to  rise  up  and  be- 
come a  great  standing  army,  the  Pope's  figure  seemed  to 
grow  more  and  more  attenuated, — his  worn  white  hands 
grasping  the  gilt  arms  of  his  chair,  looked  like  the1  claws 
of  a  dead  bird — and  his  face,  shrunken  and  withered,  like 
a  Chinese  ivory  carving  of  some  forgotten  idol. 

"  Come  out  with  me  and  minister  with  your  own  hands 
to  the  aged  and  dying !  "  pursued  Manuel,  "  And  so  shall 
you  grow  young!  Command  that  the  great  pictures,  the 
tapestries,  the  jewels,  the  world's  trash  of  St.  Peter's,  be 
sold  to  the  rich,  who  can  afford  to  set  them  in  free  and 
open  places  where  all  the  poorest  may  possess  them !  But 
do  not  You  retain  them!  You  do  not  need  them — your 
treasure  must  be  sympathy  for  all  the  world!  Not  one 
section  of  the  world, — not  one  form  of  creed, — but  for 
all ! — if  you  are  truly  the  Dispenser  of  Christ's  Message 
to  the  earth!  Come — unprotected,  save  by  the  Cross! 
Come  with  no  weapon  of  defence — '  heal  the  sick,  cleanse 
the  lepers,  raise  the  dead,  cast  out  devils !  Freely  ye  have 
received,  freely  give  5  Provide  neither  gold  nor  silver  nor 
brass  in  your  purse,' — come,  and  by  your  patience — your 
gentleness — your  pardon — your  love  to  all  men,  show 
that  '  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at  hand ! '  Walk  fear- 
less in  the  thick  of  battles,  and  your  very  presence  shall 
engender  peace !  For  the  Holy  Spirit  shall  surround  and 
encompass  you;  the  fiercest  warriors  shall  bend  before 
you,  as  they  never  would  if  you  assumed  a  world's  throne 
or  a  world's  sovereignty !  Come,  uncrowned,  defenceless  ; 
— but  strong  in  the  Spirit  of  God !  Think  of  all  the  evil 
which  has  served  as  the  foundation  for  this  palace  in 
which  you  dwell !  Can  you  not  hear  in  the  silence  of  the 
night,  the  shrieks  of  the  tortured  and  dying  of  the  In- 
quisition? Do  you  never  think  of  those  dark  days,  ten 
and  twelve  hundred  years  after  Christ,  when  no  virtue 
seemed  left  upon  the  earth? — when  the  way  to  this  very 
throne  was  paved  by  poison  and  cold  steel? — when 
those  who  then  reigned  here,  and  occupied  Your  place, 
led  such  infamous  lives  that  the  very  dogs  might  have 
been  ashamed  to  follow  in  their  footsteps ! — when  they 


The  Master-Christian.  421 

professed  to  be  able  to  sell  the  Power  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
for  so  much  gold  and  silver?  Remember  the  words, 
'  Whoso  shall  blaspheme  against  the  Holy  Ghost  it  shall 
not  be  forgiven  him,  either  in  this  world  or  in  the  world 
to  come/  Look  back  upon  the  Past — and  look  out  upon 
the  Present !  Try  to  understand  the  sufferings  of  the 
forsaken  people ! — the  pain — the  bewilderment — the  grop- 
ing for  life  in  death ! — and  come  out  with  me !  Come 
and  preach  Christ  as  He  lived  and  died,  and  was,  and 
is!  Come  out  with  me!" 

The  dreadful,  dumb  spell  remained  unbroken.  The 
room  seemed  invested  with  a  strange  solemnity — the  fig- 
ures of  the  human  beings  in  it  were  like  images  frozen 
into  rigidity — even  Cardinal  Bonpre  appeared  stricken 
by  this  mental  paralysis,  and  not  a  fold  of  his  rich  attire 
stirred  with  so  much  as  a  pulsation  of  natural  breath. 
Only  Manuel  seemed  truly  alive — his  slight  boyish  figure 
was  instinct  with  ardour — his  face  was  radiant,  and  his 
eyes  brilliant  as  stars.  And  now,  withdrawing  himself 
a  little  from  the  motionless  creature  seated  stiffly  on  the 
Papal  throne,  with  its  deep,  dark  eyes  alone  giving  sign  of 
life  by  their  unwearied  stare  and  feverish  glitter,  he 
raised  his  head  with  a  royal  gesture  of  mingled  appeal 
and  warning. 

"  Come  out  with  me !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  For  there  are 
wonderful  things  in  the  world  to-day ! — wonderful,  beau- 
tiful, and  terrible !  Take  your  share  in  them,  and  find 
God  in  every  glory!  For  with  all  the  wisdom  and  the 
splendour, — with  all  the  flashing  light  of  Heaven  poured 
out  upon  the  darkness  of  the  Sorrowful  Star,  its  people 
are  weary, — they  are  lost  in  the  confusion  and  clamour 
of  their  own  desires — they  would  fain  serve  God,  but 
know  not  where  to  find  Him,  because  a  thousand,  aye  a 
million  churches  stand  in  the  way ! — churches,  which  are 
like  a  forest  of  dark  trees,  blocking  out  the  radiance  of 
the  Sun !  God,  who  manifests  His  power  and  tenderness 
in  the  making  of  the  simplest  leaf,  the  smallest  bird,  is 
lost  to  the  understanding  and  affection  of  humanity  in 
the  multitude  of  Creeds !  Come  out  with  me, — simple 
and  pure,  gentle  and  strong!  Tell  all  the  lost  and  the 
wandering  that  there  never  was,  and  never  will  be  but 
one  God  supreme  and  perfect,  whose  name  is  Love,  whose 
work  is  Love! — and  whose  Messenger,  Christ,  pro- 


422  The  Master -Christian. 

nounced  the  New  Commandment  Love  instead  of  Hate! 
Come  out  with  me  while  it  is  yet  day,  for  the  night  cometh 
when  no  man  can  work !  Come  and  lift  up  the  world  by 
your  very  coming!  Stretch  out  your  hands  in  benedic- 
tion over  kings  and  beggars  alike ! — there  are  other  roses 
to  give  than  Golden  ones  to  Queens !  There  are  poor 
women  who  share  half  they  earn  with  those  still  poorer — 
there  are  obscure  lives  which  in  their  very  obscurity,  are 
forming  the  angel-nature,  and  weaving  the  angel's  crown  ! 
— look  for  these  in  the  world — give  them  your  Golden 
Roses !  Leave  rulers  and  governments  alone,  for  you 
should  be  above  and  beyond  all  rulers  and  governments ! 
You  should  be  the  Herald  of  peace, — the  Pardoner  of 
sin,  the  Rescuer  of  the  fallen,  and  the  Refuge  of  the  dis- 
tressed !  Come  out  with  me,  and  be  all  this  to  the  world, 
so  that  when  the  Master  comes  He  may  truly  find  yon 
working  in  His  vineyard !  " 

Another  dead  pause  ensued.  Not  a  sound,  not  a  breath 
disturbed  the  heavy  silence  which  seemed  to  have  grown 
deeper  than  before.  And  Manuel,  looking  eagerly  again 
and  closely  into  the  Pope's  face,  went  on  with  increasing 
ardour  and  passion. 

"  Come  out  with  me !  "  he  said,  "  Or  if  you  will  not 
come, — then  beware  of  the  evil  days  which  are  at  hand ! 
The  people  are  wandering  to  and  fro,  crossing  all  lands, 
struggling  one  against  the  other,  hoarding  up  useless 
gold,  and  fighting  for  supremacy ! — but  '  the  day  of  the 
Lord  shall  come  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  and  blessed  is 
he  who  shall  be  found  watching ! '  Watch !  The  hour 
is  growing  dark  and  full  of  menace ! — the  nations  are  as 
frightened  children,  losing  faith,  losing  hope,  losing 
strength !  Put  away, — put  away  from  you  the  toys  of 
time ! — quench  in  your  soul  the  thirst  for  gold,  for  of  this 
shall  come  nothing  but  corruption !  Why  trifle  with  the 
Spirit  of  holy  things?  Why  let  your  servants  use  the 
Name  of  the  Most  High  to  cover  hypocrisy  ?  Why  crave 
for  the  power  of  temporal  things  which  passes  away  in 
the  dust  of  destroyed  kingdoms?  For  the  Power  of  the 
Spirit  is  greater  than  all !  And  so  it  shall  be  proved !  The 
Spirit  shall  work  in  ways  where  it  has  never  been  found 
before! — it  shall  depart  from  the  Churches  which  are 
unworthy  of  its  Divine  inspiration! — it  shall  invest  the 
paths  of  Science! — it  shall  open  the  doors  of  the  locked 


The  Master-Christian.  423 

stars!  It  shall  display  the  worlds  invisible; — the  secrets 
of  men's  hearts,  and  of  closed  graves! — there  will  be 
terror  and  loss  and  confusion  and  shame  to  mankind, — 
and  this  world  shall  keep  nothing  of  all  its  treasures  but 
the  Cross  of  Christ!  Rome,  like  Babylon,  shall  fall! — 
and  the  Powers  of  the  Church  shall  be  judged  as  the 
Powers  of  Darkness  rather  than  of  Light,  because  they 
have  rejected  the  Word  of  their  Master,  and  '  teach  for 
doctrine  the  commandments  of  men ! '  Disaster  shall 
follow  swift  upon  disaster,  and  the  cup  of  trembling 
shall  be  drained  again  to  its  last  dregs,  as  in  the  olden 

days,  unless, — unless  perchance you  will  come  out 

with  me !  " 

With  the  last  words  a  sort  of  galvanic  shock  seemed 
to  be  imparted  to  the  rigid  figure  in  the  chair.  Springing 
upright  suddenly,  his  voice  rang  out  like  a  clarion,  dis- 
cordantly yet  clearly. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,"  he  cried,  "  Who  and  what  is 
this  boy !  How  came  he  with  Cardinal  Bonpre  ?  And 
you,  Domenico ! — do  you  stand  by  and  permit  this  af- 
front to  me ! the  living  Head  of  the  Church !  From 

a  child ! — a  tramp  of  the  streets ! — who  dares  to  speak 

to  me ! who  dares  to  reproach,  to  prophesy — aye,  to 

blaspheme  ! and  teach  Me, " 

"  As  One  having  authority, — and  not  as  the  Scribes !  " 
said  Manuel,  with  one  swift  flashing  glance,  which  like 
a  shaft  of  lightning  seemed  to  pierce  through  flesh  and 
bone, — for,  as  he  met  that  radiant  and  commanding  look, 
the  jewel-like  eyes  of  the  Pope  lost  their  lustre  and  be- 
came fixed  and  glassy, he  put  his  hand  to  his  throat 

with  a  choking  gasp  for  breath, and  like  a  dead 

body  which  had  only  been  kept  in  place  by  some  secret 
mechanical  action,  he  fell  back  in  his  chair  senseless,  his 
limbs  stretching  themselves  out  with  a  convulsive  shudder 
into  stark  immovability. 

Gherardi  started  from  his  stupor,  and  rushed  to  his 
assistance,  ringing  the  bell  violently  which  summoned 
the  valet  from  the  antechamber, — and  Moretti,  with  a 
fierce  oath,  pushing  Manuel  aside,  rushed  to  the  chair 
in  which  the  Pope's  fainting  figure  lay, — all  was  con- 
fusion ; and  in  the  excitement  and  terror  which  had 

overwhelmed  Cardinal  Bonpre  at  the  unprecedented 
scene,  Manuel  suddenly  touched  him  on  the  arm. 


424  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Follow  me !  "  he  said,  "  We  are  no  longer  needed 
here !  Come ! — let  us  go  hence !  " 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did  the  old  man  obeyed, 
trembling  in  every  limb  as  Manuel,  grasping  him  firmly 
by  the  hand,  led  him  from  the  apartment,  and  on  through 
the  winding  corridors  of  the  huge  building,  out  into  the 
open  air.  No  one  questioned  them, — no  one  interfered 
with  their  progress.  Benediction  was  being,  sung  in  one 
of  the  many  chapels  of  St.  Peter's,  and  the  solemn  sound 
of  the  organ  reached  them,  softened  and  mellowed  by 
distance,  as  they  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  Vatican,  where 
the  Cardinal,  pausing  to  recover  breath  and  equanimity, 
gazed  at  his  strange  foundling  in  alarm  and  bewilder- 
ment. 

"  Manuel !  "  he  murmured  feebly,  "  Child ! — what  have 
you  done ! " 

"  Only  what  I  am  bound  to  do !  "  replied  Manuel  sim- 
ply, "  I  have  said  no  more  than  it  is  right  to  say,  if 
Christ's  words  are  true !  Dear  friend,  be  at  peace !  You 
will  not  suffer  mis  judgment  long!  " 

The  music  stealing  out  from  the  distant  chapel,  floated 
round  them  in  large  circles  of  solemn  melody, — and  the 
glow  of  sunset  lit  the  clear  sky  with  a  warm  red  radiance, 
flecked  with  golden  clouds  of  glory. 

"  He  would  not  come  with  me !  "  said  Manuel,  with 
a  slight  gesture  backward  to  the  sombre  portals  they  had 
just  passed,  "  And  he  will  never  come !  But  you  will !  " 

And  smiling, — with  his  fair  face  turned  to  the  radiant 
sky, — he  rested  his  hand  lightly  on  the  Cardinal's  arm 
as  they  descended  the  broad  marble  steps,  and  left  the 
great  Palace  of  the  Popes  together. 


XXIX. 

WHILE  the  foregoing  scene  was  taking  place  at  the 
Vatican,  Angela  Sovrani,  left  to  herself  for  some  hours, 
took  the  opportunity  to  set  her  great  picture  "  on  view  " 
for  the  coming  morrow.  Locking  both  doors  of  her 
studio,  she  began  to  arrange  the  room ;  her  huge  canvas 
was  already  on  a  movable  easel  supplied  with  wheels, 
which  ran  lightly  and  easily  over  the  polished  floor  with- 
out making  any  sound.  At  its  summit  a  brass  rod  was 
attached,  and  on  this  a  curtain  of  golden-coloured  silk 
was  hung,  the  folds  of  which  at  present  concealed  the 
painting  from  view.  The  top-light  of  the  studio  was 
particularly  good  on  this  special  afternoon,  as  the  weather 
was  clear,  and  the  Roman  sky  translucent  and  bright  as 
an  opal,  and  Angela,  as  she  wheeled  her  "  great  work  " 
into  position,  sang  for  pure  lightness  of  heart  and  thank- 
fulness that  all  was  done.  In  her  soul  she  had  the  con- 
sciousness that  what  she  had  produced  from  her  brain 
and  hand  was  not  altogether  unworthy.  For,  though  to 
the  true  artist,  no  actual  result  can  ever  attain  to  the 
beauty  of  the  first  thought  or  ideal  of  the  thing  to  be 
performed,  there  is  always  the  consolation  that  if  one's 
best  and  truest  feeling  has  been  earnestly  put  into  the 
work,  some  touch,  however  slight,  of  that  ideal  beauty 
must  remain.  The  poet's  poem  is  never  so  fine  as  the 
poet's  thought.  The  thought  is  from  the  immortal  and 
invincible  soul, — the  poem  has  to  be  conveyed  through 
the  grosser  body,  clothed  in  language  which  must  always 
be  narrow  and  inadequate.  Hence  the  artist's  many  and 
grievous  limitations.  To  the  eyes  of  the  spirit  all  things 
appear  transfigured,  because  lifted  out  of  the  sphere,  of 
material  vision.  But  when  we  try  to  put  these  "  beauti- 
ful things  made  new,  for  the  delight  of  the  sky-children  " 
on  paper  or  canvas,  in  motionless  marble  or  flexible 
rhyme. — we  are  weighted  by  grosser  air  and  the  density 
of  bodilv  feeling.  So  it  was  with  Angela  Sovrani,  in 


426  The  Master-Christian. 

whose  compact  little  head  were  folded  the  splendid  dreams 
of  genius  like  sleeping  fairies  in  a  magic  cave; — and 
thoughtful  and  brilliant  though  she  was,  she  could  not, 
in  her  great  tenderness  for  her  affianced  lover  Florian 
Varillo,  foresee  that  daily  contact  with  his  weaker  and 
smaller  nature,  would  kill  those  dreams  as  surely  as  a 
frost-wind  kills  the  buds  of  the  rose, — and  that  grad- 
ually, very  gradually,  the  coarser  fibre  of  his  intelligence 
mingling  with  hers,  would  make  a  paltry  and  rough 
weaving  of  the  web  of  life,  instead  of  a  free  and  gracious 
pattern.  She  never  thought  of  such  possibilities — she 
would  have  rejected  the  very  idea  of  them  with  scorn 
and  indignation.  She  would  have  declared  that  her  love 
for  Florian  was  the  very  root  and  source  of  her  art, — 
that  for  him  she  worked — for  him  she  lived.  So  indeed 
she  believed,  in  her  finely-fervent  self-delusion, — but  it 
was  not  ordained  that  this  glamour  should  last, — for  hers 
was  a  nature  too  rare  and  valuable  to  be  sacrificed,  and 
the  Higher  destinies  had  begun  to  approve  her  as  pre- 
cious. Therefore,  as  is  the  case  with  all  precious  things, 
the  furnace  was  preparing  for  the  shaping  of  the  gold, — 
the  appointed  Angel  of  her  Fate  was  already  hovering 
near,  holding  ready  the  cup  of  bitterness  which  all  must 
•drain  to  the  dregs,  before  knowing  what  it  is  to  drink  of 
"  the  new  wine  in  the  Kingdom  of  God." 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  the  girl  now,  as  she  stepped 
lightly  from  one  corner  of  her  studio  to  the  other,  re- 
arranging a  vase  here — a  bust  there — and  imparting  to 
the  whole  room  that  indefinable  air  of  grace  and  luxury 
which  can  only  be  bestowed  by  the  trained  hand  of  a 
practised  artist, — "  I  wonder  if  Florian  will  be  proud  ? 
People  will  certainly  talk  of  my  picture, — some  will  praise 
and  some  will  condemn ;  and  this  mixture  of  praise  and 
condemnation  is  what  is  called  Fame.  But  will  my  be- 
loved love  me  more?  Will  he  be  glad  that  I  am  found 
worthy  in  the  world's  sight? — or  will  he  think  I  am 
usurping  his  place  ?  Ah !  "  and  she  paused  in  her  work, 
looking  vaguely  before  her  with  thoughtful,  wondering 
eyes,  "  That  is  where  we  women  workers  have  to  suffer ! 
Men  grudge  us  the  laurel,  but  they  forget  that  we  are 
trying  to  win  it  only  that  we  may  wear  the  rose  more 
fittingly!  A  woman  tries  to  do  a  great  and  a  noble 
thing,  not  that  she  may  vex  or  humiliate  a  man  by  su- 


The  Master-Christian.  427 

periority, — but  that  she  may  be  more  worthy  to  be  his 
mate  and  helper  in  the  world, — and  also,  that  her  children 
may  reverence  her  for  something  more  than  the  mere 
animal  duties  of  nursing  and  tenderness.  How  proud 
to-day  would  be  any  man  or  woman  who  could  point  to 
Rosa  Bonheur  and  say,  '  She  was  my  mother ! '  And 
yet  perhaps  this  idea  of  mine  is  too  fantastic, — the  Brown- 
ings left  a  son — and  he  has  nothing  of  their  genius  or. 
their  enthusiasm." 

She  moved  to  the  grand  piano  and  set  it  open;  as  she 
did  so  a  thought  of  Sylvie  came  across  her  mind,  and  she 
smiled. 

"  Dear  little  rose-bud  of  a  woman !  "  she  mused,  "  How 
glad  I  am  that  she  is  happy !  And  how  'delightful  it  is 
to  see  the  pride  she  takes  in  Aubrey  Leigh ! — how  she 
studies  his  books,  and  pores  over  his  statistics  and 
theories!  I  really  believe  she  knows  them  all  by  heart! 
And  what  wonderful  schemes  she  is  building  up  in  her 
mind  for  the  people  in  whom  he  is  so  interested !  What 
a  sensation  she  will  make  if  she  intends  to  work  with  her 
husband  as  thoroughly  and  devotedly  as  her  ideas  imply ! 
Her  marriage  will  be  an  immense  disappointment  to  cer- 
tain persons  I  could  name !  "  and  she  smiled,  "  Dear 
Sylvie !  With  all  her  goodness,  and  grace  and  beauty,  her 
name  will  sound  more  obnoxious  at  the  Vatican  than 
even  the  name  of  Gys  Grandit !  " 

She  had  lifted  a  cluster  of  lilies  from  a  vase  to  re- 
group them,  and  as  her  thoughts  turned  in  this  direction 
she  bent  her  eyes  upon  their  large  white  blooms  medi- 
tatively, and  a  faint  rose  flush  warmed  her  cheeks. 

"  Ce  sont  des  fleurs  etranges, 
Et  traitresses,  avec  leurs  airs  de  sceptres  d'anges, 
De  thyrses  lumineux  pour  doigts  de  seraphins  ; 
Leurs  parfums  sont  trop  forts,  tout  ensemble,  et  trop  fins." 

"  It  is  strange,"  she  thought,  "  that  I  should  have  cor- 
responded so  many  months  with  '  Gys  Grandit '  through 
my  admiration  for  his  books — and  that  he  should  turn 
out  to  be  the  son  of  poor  Abbe  Vergniaud !  Cyrillon ! 
It  is  a  pretty  name !  And  since  we  met — since  that  ter- 
rible scene  in  the  church  in  Paris, — since  he  knew  who 
I  was,  he  has  not  written.  And,  and  for  his  poor  father's 
death,  ...  I  suppose  he  thought  it  was  sufficient  to 


428  The  Master-Christian. 

telegraph  the  news  of  the  death  to  my  uncle.  But  I  am 

sorry  he  does  not  write  to  me  any  more ! 1  valued  his 

letters they  were  such  brilliant  essays  on  all  the  move- 
ments and  politics  of  the  time.  It  was  just  a  little  secret 
of  mine; — it  was  pleasant  to  think  I  was  in  correspond- 
ence with  such  a  genius.  However,  he  has  had  so  much 
to  think  of  since  then,  .  .  ."  She  set  the  lilies  in  their 
vase  again,  inhaling  their  delicious  odour  as  she  did  so. 

"  The  flowers  of  the  saints  and  martyrs !  "  she  said, 
"  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  artists  chose  them  for  that 
purpose;  they  are  so  white — and  pure — and  passion- 
less, 

A  slight  crash  disturbed  her  self-communion,  and  she 
hastened  to  see  what  had  fallen.  It  was  a  small  clay  fig- 
ure of  "  Eros  ", — a  copy  of  a  statuette  found  in  the  rums 
of  Pompeii.  The  nail  supporting  its  bracket  had  given 
way.  Angela  had  been  rather  fond  of  this  little  work  of 
art,  and  as  she  knelt  to  pick  up  the  fragments  she  was 
more  vexed  at  the  accident  than  she  cared  to  own.  She 
looked  wistfully  at  the  pretty  moulded  broken  limbs  of 
the  little  god  as  she  put  them  all  in  a  heap  together. 

"  What  a  pity !  "  she  murmured,  "  I  am  not  at  all  su- 
perstitious, yet  I  wish  anything  in  the  room  had  come  to 
grief  raiher  than  this !  ft  is  not  a  good  omen !  " 

She  moved  across  the  floor  again  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment inert,  one  hand  resting  lightly  on  the  amber  silk 
draperies  which  veiled  her  picture. 

"  There  was  no  truth  at  all  in  that  rumour  about  Flo- 
rian's  '  Phillida  ' ; — '  Pon-Pon,'  as  they  call  her,"  she 
thought,  "  She  serves  as  a  model  to  half  the  artists  in 
Rome.  Unfortunate  creature.  She  is  one  of  the  most  de- 
praved and  reckless  of  her  class,  so  I  hear — and  Florian 
is  far  too  refined  and  fastidious  to  even  recognise  such  a 
woman,  outside  his  studio.  The  Marquis  Fontenelle  only 
wished  to  defend  himself  .by  trying  to  include  another 
man  in  the  charge  of  libertinage,  when  he  himself  was 
meditating  the  most  perfidious  designs  on  Sylvie.  Poor 
Fontenelle !  One  must  try  and  think  as  kindly  as  possi- 
ble of  him  now — he  is  dead.  But  I  cannot  think  it  was 
right  of  him  to  accuse  my  Florian ! " 

Just  then  she  heard  a  soft  knocking.  It  came  from  the 
door  at  the  furthest  end  of  the  studio,  one  which  com- 
municated with  a  small  stone  courtyard,  which  in  its  turn 


The  Master-Christian.  429 

opened  out  to  a  narrow  street  leading  down  to  the  Tiber. 
It  was  the  entrance  at  which  models  presented  themselves 
whenever  Angela  needed  them. 

"  Angela !  "  called  a  melodious  voice,  which  she  recog- 
nised at  once  as  the  dearest  to  her  in  the  world.  "  An- 
gela !  " 

She  hurried  to  the  door  but  did  not  open  it. 

"  Florian !  "  she  said  softly,  putting  her  lips  close  to  the 
panel,  "Florian,  caro  mio!  Why  are  you  here?" 

"  I  want  to  come  in,"  said  Florian,  "  I  have  news,  An- 
gela !  I  must  see  you !  " 

She  hesitated  a  moment  longer,  and  then  she  undid 
the  bolt,  and  admitted  him.  He  entered  with  a  smiling 
and  victorious  air. 

"  I  am  all  alone  here,"  she  said  at  once,  before  he  could 
speak,  "  Father  is  at  Frascati  on  some  business — and  my 
uncle  the  Cardinal  is  at  the  Vatican.  Will  you  not  come 
back  later  ?  " 

For  all  answer,  Florian  took  her  in  his  arms  with  quite 
a  reverent  tenderness,  and  kissed  her  softly  on  brow  and 
lips. 

"  No,  I  will  stay !  "  he  said,  "  I  want  to  have  you  all 
to  myself  for  a  few  minutes.  I  came  to  tell  you,  sweet- 
est, that  if  I  am  to  be  the  first  to  see  your  picture  and 
pass  judgment  on  it,  I  had  better  see  it  now,  for  I  am  go- 
ing away  to-morrow !  " 

"  Going  away  !  "  echoed  Angela,  "  Where?  " 

"  To  Naples,"  he  answered,  "  Only  for  a  little  while. 
They  have  purchased  my  picture  '  Phillida  et  les  Roses  ' 
for  one  of  the  museums  there,  and  they  want  me  to  see  if 
I  approve  of  the  position  in  which  it  is  to  be  placed.  They 
also  wish  to  honour  me  by  a  banquet  or  something  of  the 
kind — an  absurdly  unnecessary  affair,  but  still  I  think 
it  is  perhaps  advisable  that  I  should  go." 

He  spoke  with  an  affectation  of  indifference,  but  any 
observer  of  him  whose  eyes  were  not  blinded  by  affection, 
could  have  seen  that  he  exhaled  from  himself  an 
atmosphere  of  self-congratulation  at  the  banquet  propo- 
sition. Little  honours  impress  little  minds ; — and  a  faint 
thrill  of  pain  moved  Angela  as  she  saw  him  thus  de- 
lighted with  so  poor  and  ordinary  a  compliment.  In  any 
other  man  it  would  have  moved  her  to  contempt,  but  in 
Florian well ! — she  was  only  just  a  little  sorry. 


430  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Yes,  perhaps  it  might  look  churlish  of  you  not  to  ac- 
cept," she  said,  putting  away  from  her  the  insidious  sug- 
gestion that  perhaps  if  Florian  loved  her  as  much  as  he 
professed,  an  invitation  to  a  banquet  at  Naples  would 
have  had  no  attraction  for  him  as  compared  with  being 
present  at  the  first  view  of  her  picture  on  the  morning 
she  had  herself  appointed "  I  think  under  the  cir- 
cumstances you  had  better  not  see  the  picture  till  you 
come  back !  "  • 

"  Now,  Angela !  "  he  exclaimed  vexedly,  "  You  know 
I  will  not  consent  to  that!  You  have  promised  me  that 
I  shall  be  the  first  to  see  it — and  here  I  am !  " 

"  It  should  be  seen  by  the  morning  light,"  said  An- 
gela, a  touch  of  nervousness  beginning  to  affect  her 
equanimity, — "  This  light  is  pale  and  waning,  though  the 
afternoon  is  so  clear.  You  cannot  see  the  coloring  to  the 
best  advantage !  " 

"  Am  I  not  a  painter  also  ?  "  asked  Varillo  playfully, 
putting  his  arm  round  her  waist, — "  And  can  I  not  guess 
the  effect  in  the  morning  light  as  well  as  if  I  saw  it? 
Come,  Angela  mia!  Unveil  the  great  prodigy!  "  and  he 
laughed, — "  You  began  it  before  we  were  affianced ; — 
think  what  patience  I  have  had  for  nearly  two  years!  " 

Angela  did  not  reply  at  once.  Somehow,  his  light 
laugh  jarred  upon  her. 

"  Florian,"  she  said  at  last,  raising  her  truthful,  beau- 
tiful eyes  fully  to  his,  "  I  do  not  think  you  quite  under- 
stand !  This  picture  has  absorbed  a  great  deal  of  my 
heart  and  soul — I  have  as  it  were,  painted  my  own  life 
blood  into  it — for  I  mean  it  to  declare  a  truth  and  con- 
vey a  lesson.  It  will  either  cover  me  with  obloquy,  or 
cro\vn  me  with  lasting  fame.  You  speak  jestingly, 
as  if  it  were  some  toy  with  which  I  had  amused  myself 
these  three  years.  Do  you  not  believe  that  a  woman's 
work  may  be  as  serious,  as  earnest,  and  strongly  purpose- 
ful as  a  man's  ?  " 

Still  clasping  her  round  the  waist,  Florian  drew  her 
closer,  and  pressing  her  head  against  his  breast,  he 
looked  down  on  her  smiling. 

"  What  sweet  eyes  you  have !  "  he  said,  "  The  sweetest, 
the  most  trusting,  the  most  childlike  eyes  I  have  ever 
seen!  It  would  be  impossible  to  paint  such  eyes,  unless 
one's  brushes  were  Raffaelle's,  dipped  in  holy  water! 


The  Master-Christian.  431 

Not  that  I  believe  very  much  in  holy  water  as  a  painter's 
medium !  "  He  laughed, — he  had  a  well-shaped  mouth 
and  was  fond  of  smiling,  in  order  that  he  might  show  his 
even  pearly  teeth,  which  contrasted  becomingly  with  his 
dark  moustache.  "  Yes,  my  Angela  has  beautiful  eyes, 
— and  such  soft,  pretty  hair !  "  and  he  caressed  it  gently, 
"  like  little  golden  tendrils  with  a  beam  of  the  sunlight 
caught  in  it !  Is  not  that  a  pretty  compliment  ?  I  think 
I  ought  to  have  been  a  poet  instead  of  a  painter !  " 

"  You  are  both,"  said  Angela  fondly,  with  a  little  sigh 
of  rest  and  pleasure  as  she  nestled  in  his  arms — "  You 
will  be  the  greatest  artist  of  your  time  when  you  paint 
large  subjects  instead  of  small  ones." 

His  tender  hold  of  her  relaxed  a  little. 

"  You  think  '  Phillida  et  les  Roses  '  a  small  subject?  " 
he  asked,  with  a  touch  of  petulance  in  his  tone,  "  Surely 
if  a  small  study  is  perfect,  it  is  better  than  a  large  one 
which  is  imperfect?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is  !  "  replied  the  girl  quickly — "  By  small- 
ness  I  did  not  mean  the  size  of  the  canvas, — I  meant  the 
character  of  the  subject." 

'  There  is  nothing  small  in  the  beauty  of  woman !  "  de- 
clared Varillo,  with  an  enthusiastic  air — "  Her  form  is 
divine  !  Her  delicious  flesh  tints — her  delicate  curves — 
her  amorous  dimples — her  exquisite  seductiveness — com- 
bined with  her  touching  weakness — these  qualities  make 
of  woman  the  one, — the  only  subject  for  a  painter's  brush, 
when  the  painter  is  a  man !  " 

Involuntarily  Angela  thought  of  "  Pon-Pon,"  who  had 
posed  for  the  "  Phillida,"  and  a  little  shiver  ran  over  her 
nerves  like  a  sudden  wind  playing  on  the  chords  of  an 
^olian  harp.  Gently  she  withdrew  herself  from  her 
lover's  embrace. 

"  And  when  the  painter  is  a  woman,  should  the  only 
subject  for  her  brush  be  the  physical  beauty  of  man?" 
she  asked. 

Varillo  gave  an  airy  gesture  of  remonstrance. 

"  Carissiina  mia!  You  shock  me!  How  can  you  sug- 
gest such  a  thing!  The  two  sexes  differ  in  tastes  and 
aspirations  as  absolutely  as  in  form.  Man  is  an  unfet- 
tered creature, — he  must  have  his  liberty,  even  if  it 
reaches  license ;  woman  is  his  dependent.  That  is  Na- 
ture's law.  Man  is  the  conqueror — woman  is  his  con- 


432  The  Master-Christian. 

quest!  We  cannot  alter  these  things.  That  is  one  rea- 
son for  the  prejudice  existing  against  woman's  work — if 
it  excels  that  of  man,  we  consider  it  a  kind  of  morbid 
growth — an  unnatural  protuberance  on  the  face  of  the 
universe.  In  fact,  it  is  a  wrong  balance  of  the  intellectual 
forces,  which  in  their  action,  should  always  remain  on  the 
side  of  man." 

"  But  if  man  abuses  his  power,  may  it  not  be  taken 
from  him  altogether?  "  suggested  Angela  tranquilly,  "  If 
man,  knowing  that  a  life  of  self-indulgence  destroys  his 
intellectual  capacity,  still  persists  in  that  career,  and  wo- 
man, studying  patiently  to  perfect  herself,  refuses  to  fol- 
low his  example  of  vice,  may  it  not  happen  that  the  intel- 
lectual forces  may  range  themselves  on  the  side  of  right 
rather  than  wrong,  and  invest  woman  with  a  certain  su- 
premacy in  the  end?  It  is  a  problem  worth  thinking 
of!" 

Varillo  looked  sharply  at  her.  Had  she  heard  any- 
thing of  his  private  life  in  Rome  ? — a  life  he  kept  carefully 
concealed  from  everyone  who  might  be  likely  to  report 
his  little  amusements  at  the  Palazzo  Sovrani?  A  slight, 
very  slight  touch  of  shame  pricked  him,  as  he  noted  the 
grace  of  her  figure,  the  dainty  poise  of  her  head  on  her 
slim  white  throat — the  almost  royal  air  of  dignity  and 
sweetness  which  seemed  to  surround  her, — there  was  no 
doubt  whatever  of  her  superiority  to  the  women  he  gen- 
erally consorted  with,  and  for  a  moment  he  felt  remorse- 
ful,— but  he  soon  dismissed  his  brief  compunction  with 
a  laugh. 

"  No,  sweet  Angela,"  he  said  gaily,  "  it  is  not  worth 
thinking  of !  Believe  me !  I  will  not  enter  into  any  such 
profound  discussions  with  you.  My  present  time  is  too 
short,  and  your  attractions  too  many!  Why  did  you 
slip  out  of  my  arms  so  unkindly  just  now?  Surely  you 
were  not  offended  ?  Come  back !  Come,  and  we  will  go 
up  to  the  great  picture  as  lovers  should,  together — en- 
twined in  each  other's  arms! — and  you  shall  then  draw 
the  mysterious  curtain, — or  shall  I  ?  " 

She  still  hesitated.  Then  after  a  pause,  she  came  to- 
wards him  once  more,  the  soft  colour  alternately  flushing 
and  paling  her  cheeks,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  You  did  not  answer  me."  she  said,  "  when  I  asked 
you  just  now  if  you  believed  that  a  woman's  work  could 


The  Master-Christian.  433 

be  as  purposeful  as  a  man's — sometimes  indeed  more  so. 
You  evaded  the  question.  Why  ?  " 

"  Did  I  evade  it  ?  "  and  Varillo  took  her  hand  in  his 
own  and  kissed  it, — "  Dolcczza  tnia,  I  would  not  pain  you 
for  the  world ! 

A  slight  shadow  clouded  her  face. 

"  You  will  not  pain  me,"  she  answered,  "  except  by  not 
being  true  to  yourself  and  to  me.  You  know  how  I  have 
worked, — you  know  how  high  I  have  set  my  ambition  for 
your  sake — to  make  myself  more  worthy  of  you ;  but  if 
you  do  honestly  think  that  a  woman's  work  in  art  must 
always  be  inferior  to  a  man's,  no  matter  how  ardently 
she  studies — no  matter  even  if  she  has  so  perfected  her- 
self in  drawing,  anatomy,  and  colouring  as  to  be  admitted 
the  equal  of  men  in  these  studies — if  the  result  must,  in 
your  mind,  be  nevertheless  beneath  that  of  the  mascu- 
line attainment,  why  say  so, — because  then then — " 

1(  Then  what,  my  sweet  philosopher  ?  "  asked  Flbrian 
lightly,  again  kissing  the  hand  he  held. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  fully  on  him. 

"  Then,"  she  replied  slowly,  "  I  should  know  you  bet- 
ter— I  should  understand  you  more !  " 

An  unpleasant  twinge  affected  his  nerves,  and  his  eye- 
lids quivered  and  blinked  as  though  struck  by  a  sudden 
shaft  of  the  sun.  This  was  the  only  facial  sign  he  ever 
gave  of  the  difficulty  he  at  times  experienced  in  meeting 
the  straight,  clear  glance  of  his  betrothed. 

"  Yon  would  know  me  more,  and  love  me  less  ?  Is  that 
it  ?  "  he  said  carelessly.  "  My  dear  girl,  why  do  you  press 
the  point?  If  you  will  have  it,  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  think 
women  are  growing  very  clever,  much  too  clever  in  fact, 
— and  that  the  encouragement  and  impetus  given  to  them 
in  the  Arts  is  a  very  great  mistake.  Because  they  are  not 
all  geniuses  like  my  Angela!  You  are  one  in  a  thou- 
sand— or  rather  one  in  a  million, — and  for  one  Angela 
Sovrani  we  shall  have  a  world  of  female  daubers  calling 
themselves  artists  and  entering  into  competition  with  us, 
as  if  we  had  not  already  quite  enough  competition  among 
our  cwn  sex !  I  honestly  believe  that  with  very  rare  ex- 
ceptions woman's  work  is  decidedly  inferior  and  mediocre 
as  compared  to  man's." 

Quickly  Angela  disengaged  herself  from  his  hold,  her 
lips  trembling — her  eyes  were  full  of  a  strange  fire  and 


434  The  Master-Christian. 

brilliancy, — her  slight  figure  seemed  to  grow  taller  as 
she  stood  for  a  moment  like  a  queen,  regarding  him 
steadfastly  from  under  her  fair,  level  brows. 

"  Then  come  and  see !  "  she  said,  "  I  am  not  proud — I 
make  no  boast  at  all  of  what  I  have  done — and  no  one 
perceives  or  deplores  the  faults  of  my  work  more  than  I 
do — but  I  know  I  have  not  altogether  failed !  " 

She  'moved  away  from  him  and  stood  opposite  her 
veiled  canvas, — then  as  Florian  followed  and  joined  her, 
with  a  swift  action  which  had  something  of  defiance  as 
well  as  grace  in  it,  she  swept  aside  the  concealing  curtain. 
Florian  recoiled  with  an  involuntary  cry, — and  then  re- 
mained motionless  and  silent, — stricken  dumb  and  stupid 
by  the  magnificent  creation  which  confronted  him.  This 
Angela's  masterpiece!  A  woman's  work!  This  stu- 
pendous conception !  This  perfect  drawing !  This  won- 
drous colouring!  Fully  facing  him,  the  central  glory  of 
the  whole  picture,  was  a  figure  of  Christ — unlike  any 

other  Christ  ever  imagined  by  poet  or  painter an 

etherealised  Form  through  which  the  very  light  of 
Heaven  itself  seemed  to  shine, — supreme,  majestic,  and 
austerely  God-like; — the  face  was  more  beautiful  than 
any  ever  dreamed  of  by  the  hewers  of  the  classic  marbles 
— it  was  the  face  of  a  great  Archangel, — beardless  and 
youthful,  yet  kingly  and  commanding.  Round  the  broad 
brows  a  Crown  of  Thorns  shone  like  a  diadem,  every 
prickly  point  tipped  with  pale  fire, — and  from  the  light 
floating  folds  of  intense  white  which,  cloud-like,  clung 
about  the  divine  Form,  faint  flashes  of  the  lightning 
gleamed.  Above  this  grand  Christ,  the  heavens  were 
opened,  pouring  out  a  rain  of  such  translucent  purity  of 
colour  and  radiance  as  never  had  been  seen  in  any  painted 
canvas  before — but  beneath,  the  clouds  were  black  as 
midnight — confused,  chaotic,  and  drifting  darkly  on  a 
strong  wind  as  it  seemed  into  wierd  and  witch-like  shapes, 
wherein  there  were  seen  the  sun  and  moon  revolving  pal- 
lidly, like  globes  of  fire  lost  from  their  orbits  and  about 
to  become  extinct.'  And  among  those  shifting  black  films 
were  a  crowd  of  human  creatures,  floating  and  falling 
into  unknown  depths  of  darkness,  and  striking  out 
wild  arms  of  appeal  and  entreaty  and  despair, — the  faces 
of  these  were  all  familiar,  and  were  the  life-like  por- 
traits of  many  of  those  pre-eminent  in  the  history  of  the 


The  Master-Christian.  435 

time.  Chief  among  them  was  the  Sovereign  Pontiff, 
waxen  and  wan  and  dark-eyed, — he  was  depicted  as  fas- 
tening fetters  of  iron  round  the  body  of  a  beautiful  youth, 
laurel-crowned,  the  leaves  of  the  laurel  bearing  faint  gold 
letters  which  spelt  the  word  "  Science."  Huddled  be- 
side him  was  a  well-known  leader  of  the  Jesuits,  busily 
counting  up  heaps  of  gold, — another  remarkable  figure 
was  that  of  a  well-known  magnate  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, who,  leaning  forward  eagerly,  sought  to  grasp  and 
hold  the  garment  of  the  Pope,  but  was  dragged  back  by 
the  hand  of  a  woman  crowned  with  an  Imperial  diadem. 
After  these  and  other  principal  personages  came  a  con- 
fusion of  faces — all  recognisable,  yet  needing  study  to 
discern; — creatures  drifting  downwardly  into  the  dark- 
ness,— one  was  the  vivisectionist  whose  name  was  cele- 
brated through  France,  clutching  at  his  bleeding  victim 
and  borne  relentlessly  onwards  by  the  whirlwind, — 
and  forms  and  faces  belong  to  men  of  every  description 
of  Church-doctrine  were  seen  trampling  underneath  them 
other  human  creatures  scarcely  discernible.  And  over 
all  this  blackness  and  chaos  the  supernal  figure  of  the 
Christ  was  aerially  poised, — one  hand  was  extended 
and  to  this  a  woman  clung — a  woman  with  a  beautiful 
face  made  piteous  in  its  beauty  by  long  grief  and  pa- 
tient endurance.  In  her  other  arm  she  held  a  sleeping 
child — and  mother  and  child  were  linked  together  by  a 
garland  of  flowers  partially  broken  and  faded.  Her  en- 
treating attitude, — the  sleeping  child's  helplessness — her 
worn  face, — the  perishing  roses  of  earth's  hope  and  joy, 
— all  expressed  their  meaning  simply  yet  tragically,  and 
as  the  Divine  Hand  supported  and  drew  her  up  out  of  the 
universal  chaos  below,  the  hope  of  a  new  world,  a  better 
world,  a  wiser  world,  a  holier  world,  seemed  to  be  dis- 
tantly conveyed.  But  the  eyes  of  the  Christ  were  full  of 
reproach,  and  were  bent  on  the  Representative  of  St. 
Peter  binding  the  laurel-crowned  youth,  and  dragging 
him  into  darkness, — and  the  words  written  across  the 
golden  mount  of  the  picture,  in  clear  black  letters,  seemed 
to  be  actually  spoken  aloud  from  the  vivid  color  and 
movement  of  the  painting.  "  Many  in  that  day  will  call 
upon  Me  and  say,  Lord,  Lord,  have  we  not  prophesied 
in  Thy  name,  and  in  Thy  name  cast  ou*  devils,  and  done 
many  wonderful  works  ?  " 


436  The  Master  Christian. 

"  Then  will  I  say  to  them,  I  never  knew  you !  Depart 
from  me  all  ye  that  work  iniquity !  " 

As  an  Allegory  the  picture  was  a  daring-yet  sublime 
reproach  to  the  hypocrisy  of  the  religious  world, — as  a 
picture  it  was  consummate  in  every  detail,  and  would 
have  been  freely  admitted  as  a  masterpiece  of  Raffaelle 
had  Raffaelle  been  fortunate  enough  to  paint  it.  Still 
Varillo  kept  silence.  Angela's  heart  beat  so  loudly  that 
she  could  almost  hear  it  in  the  deep  silence  of  the  room. 
Every  fine  little  nerve  in  her  body  was  strained -to  the 
utmost  height  of  suspense, — she  was  afraid  to  look  at 
her  lover,  or  disturb  the  poise  of  his  mental  judgment  by 
the  lightest  movement.  And  he?  Thoughts,  black  as 
the  chaos  of  cloud  she  had  so  powerfully  portrayed,  were 
stirring  in  his  soul, — thoughts,  base  and  mean  and  cow- 
ardly, which,  gradually  gathering  force  as  he  dwelt  upon 
them,  began  to  grow  and  spring  up  to  a  devilish  height. 
worked  into  life  and  being  by  a  burning  spark  of  jealousy, 
which,  long  smouldering  in  his  nature,  now  leaped  into  a 
flame.  No  trace  of  the  wicked  inner  workings  of  his 
mind,  however,  darkened  the  equanimity  of  his  features, 
or  clouded  the  serene,  soft  candour  of  his  eyes,  as  he  at 
last  turned  towards  the  loving,  shrinking  woman,  who 
stood  waiting  for  his  approval,  as  simply  and  sweetly 
as  a  rose  might  wait  for  the  touch  of  the  morning  sun. 
Slowly,  and  like  little  pellets  of  ice,  his  first  words  fell 
from  his  lips, — 

"  Did  you  do  it  all  yourself  ?  " 

The  spell  was  disturbed — the  charm  broken.  Angela 
turned  very  white — she  drew  a  deep  breath — and  the 
tension  on  her  nerves  relaxed, — her  heart  gave  one  indig- 
nant bound — and  then  resumed  its  usual  quiet  beating, 
as  with  a  strong  effort  she  gathered  all  her  dignity  and 
force  together,  and  replied  simply, 

"Can  you  ask?" 

He  looked  at  her.  What  an  embodied  insult  to  the  ar- 
rogance of  man  she  was  !  She ! — a  mere  woman ! — and 
the  painter  of  the  finest  picture  ever  seen  since  Raffaelle 
and  Michael  Angelo  left  the  world  to  work  elsewhere. 
"  Chaste  as  ice,  pure  as  snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape 
calumny !  "  In  his  imagination  he  saw  the  world  crown- 
ing her  with  imperishable  bays — he  heard  the  denuncia- 
tion of  the  Vatican  and  the  condemnation  of  the 


The  Master-Christian.  437 

Churches,  thunder  uselessly  against  the  grand  lesson  of 
her  work,  while  crowds  gathered  adoringly  before  the 
most  perfect  Christ  ever  painted ! — and  he  saw  her  name 
written  up  in  letters  of  gold  on  the  scroll  of  those  whom 
history  numbers  as  immortal !  It  should  not  be !  It 
should  never  be !  And  again  he  spoke,  enunciating  his 
words  with  difficulty,  for  his  lips  were  dry. 

"  It  is  very  fine !  Quite  marvellous,  in  fact ! — almost 
unprecedented !  That  is  why  I  ask,  '  did  you  do  it  all 
yourself?  '  You  must  not  be  offended,  Angela!  I  mean 
so  well !  You  see  the  conception — the  breadth  of  treat- 
ment— the  gradation  and  tone  of  colour — are  all  abso- 
lutely masculine.  Who  first  suggested  the  idea  to  you  ?  " 

Still  very  pale,  breathing  quickly  yet  lightly,  and  main- 
taining an  air  of  calm  which  was  almost  matter  of  fact, 
she  answered, — 

"  No  one !  Though  perhaps,  if  it  is  traced  to  its 
source,  it  arose  in  my  mind  from  seeing  the  universal  dis- 
satisfaction which  most  intelligent  people  feel  with  re- 
ligion, as  administered  to  them  by  the  Churches.  That, 
and  a  constant  close  study  of  the  New  Testament,  set  the 
thought  in  my  brain, — a  thought  which  gradually  ex- 
pressed itself  in  this  form.  So  far  as  any  work  be- 
longs to  the  worker,  it  is  entirely  my  own  creation.  I 
am  sorry  you  should  have  implied  any  doubt  of  it !  " 

Here  her  voice  trembled  a  little,  but  she  quickly  stead- 
ied it.  He  smiled — a  little  difficult  smile — and  slipping 
his  right  hand  between  his  coat  and  vest,  felt  for  some- 
thing he  always  carried  there.  It  should  never  be ! 

"  My  dear  Angela !  "  he  said,  with  a  gracious  tran- 
quillity that  was  almost  dignity,  "  I  do  not  doubt  you  in 
the  least! — I  merely  suggest  what  all  the  world  will  say! 
There  is  not  an  art-critic  alive  who  will  accept  this — this 

extraordinary  production as  the  work  of  a  woman! 

It  is  the  kind  of  thing  which  might  have  been  produced 
hundreds  of  years  ago  by  a  great  master  setting  his  pupils 
to  work  at  different  sections  of  the  canvas, — but  that  one 
woman,  painting  all  alone  for  three  years,  should  have 
designed  and  executed  such  a  masterpiece — yes  ! — I  will 
admit  it  is  a  masterpiece ! — is  an  unheard  of  and  alto- 
gether an  extraordinary  thing,  and  you  must  not  wonder 
if  competent  judges  reject  the  statement  with  incred- 
ulitv !  " 


438 


The  Master-Christian. 


"  It  does  not  matter  to  me,"  said  Angela,  ''what  they 
reject  or  accept.  You  admit  it  is  a  masterpiece — that  is 
enough  for  me.  It  is  my  own  work,  and  you  know  it 
is!" 

"  Dear  little  one !  "  he  said,  laughing  forcedly,  "  How 
do  I  know  ?  You  have  never  admitted  me  into  the  studio 
once  while  you  were  at  work !  " 

"  Florian !  " 

The  exclamation  broke  from  her  lips  like  a  cry  of 
physical  pain. 

"  That  was  a  mistake  of  yours !  "  he  went  on  recklessly, 
his  eyes  beginning  to  glitter  with  the  fever  raging  in  his 
mind,  "  You  should  not  have  shut  the  doors  against  your 
lover,  my  beloved !  Nor  would  you  admit  your  father 
either !  That  looks  very  strange !  " 

White  as  a  snowflake,  yet  with  blazing  eyes,  Angela 
turned  upon  him. 

"  Florian !  "  she  said,  "  Do  you — you  of  all  people  in 
the  world — you  to  whom  I  have  given  all  my  love  and 
confidence — mean  to  suggest  that  my  work  is  not  my 
own?  " 

He  looked  at  her,  smiling  easily. 

"  Sweet  Angela,  not  I !  I  know  your  genius — I  wor- 
ship it !  See !  "  and  with  a  light  grace  he  dropped  on  one 
knee,  and  snatching  her  hand,  kissed  it — then  springing 
up  again,  he  said,  "  You  are  a  great  creature,  my  Angela ! 
— the  greatest  artist  in  the  world, — if  we  can  only  make 
the  world  believe  it!" 

Something  in  his  voice,  his  manner,  moved  her  to  a 
vague  touch  of  dread.  Earnestly  she  looked  at  him, — 
wonderingly,  and  with  a  passionate  reproach  in  her  pure, 
true  eyes.  And  still  he  smiled,  while  the  fiends  of  envy 
and  malice  made  havoc  in  his  soul. 

"  My  glorious  Angela !  "  he  said,  "  My  bride,  my  beau- 
tiful one !  A  veritable  queen,  to  w^hom  nations  shall  pay 
homage !  "  He  threw  one  arm  round  her  waist  and  drew 
her  somewhat  roughly  to  him.  "  You  must  not  be  vexed 
with  me,  sweetheart ! — the  world  is  a  cruel  world,  and  al- 
ways doubts  great  ability  in  woman !  I  only  prepare  you 
for  what  most  people  will  say.  But  /  do  not  doubt ! — I 
know  your  power,  and  triumph  in  it !  "  He  paused  a 
moment,  breathing  quickly, — his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
picture, — then  he  said,  "  If  I  may  venture  to  criticise — 


The  Master-Christian.  439 

there  is  a  shadow — there,  at  the  left  hand  side  of  the 
canvas — do  you  not  see  ?  " 

She  disengaged  herself  from  his  clasp. 
"  Where  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  voice  from  which  all  spirit 
and  hopefulness  had  fled. 

"  You  are  sad  ?  My  Angela,  have  I  discouraged  you  ? 
Forgive  me !  I  do  not  find  fault, — this  is  a  mere  nothing, 
— you  may  not  agree  with  me, — but  does  not  that  dark 
cloud  make  somewhat  too  deep  a  line  near  the  faded 
roses?  It  may  be  only  an  effect  of  this  waning  light, — 
but  I  do  think  that  line  is  heavy  and  might  be  improved. 
Be  patient  with  me ! — I  only  criticise  to  make  perfection 
still  more  perfect !  " 

Listlessly  she  moved  closer  to  the  picture,  turning  away 
from  him  as  she  did  so. 

"  Just  the  slightest  softening  of  the  tone — the  finishing 
touch !  "  he  murmured  in  caressing  accents ;  while  to  him- 
self he  muttered — "  It  shall  not  be !  It  shall  never  be !  " 
Then  with  a  swift  movement  his  hand  snatched  at  the 

thing  he  always  carried  concealed  near  his  breast 

a  flash  of  pointed  steel  glittered  in  the  light, — and  with 
one  stealthy  spring  and  pitiless  blow,  he  stabbed  her  full 
and  furiously  in  the  back  as  she  stood  looking  at  the  fault 
he  had  pretended  to  discover  in  her  picture!  One  chok- 
ing cry  escaped  her  lips — 

"  Florian you !       You — Florian !  "    Then    reeling, 

she  threw  up  her  arms  and  fell,  face  forwards  on  the  floor, 
insensible. 

He  stood  above  her,  dagger  in  hand, — and  studied  the 
weapon  with  strange  curiosity.  It  was  crimson  and  wet 
writh  blood.  Then  he  stared  at  the  picture.  A  faint  hor- 
ror began  to  creep  over  him.  The  great  Christ  in  the 
centre  of  the  painting  seemed  to  live  and  move,  and  float 
towards  him  on  clouds  of  blinding  glory.  His  breath 
came  and  went  in  uneasy  gasps. 

"  Angela !  "  he  muttered  thickly, — "  Angela !  " 
She  lay  prone  and  horribly  still.  He  was  afraid  to 
touch  her.  What  had  he  done?  Murdered  her?  Oh 
no ! — he  had  done  nothing — nothing  at  all, — she  had 
merely  fainted — she  would  be  well  presently !  He  smiled 
foolishly  at  this,  still  gazing  straight  at  the  picture,  and 
holding  the  sharp  blood-stained  blade  in  his  hand. 

"  My  love !  "  he  said  aloud, — then  listened — as  though 


440  The  Master-Christian. 

waiting  for  an  answer.  And  still  he  stared  persistently 
at  the  glorious  figure  of  the  Christ,  till  the  Divine  eyes 
seemed  to  flash  the  fire  of  an  everlasting  wrath  upon  his 
treacherous  soul. 

"  To  destroy  the  work  ?     Or  claim   it  ?  "   he   mused, 

"  Either  would  be  easy !    That  is,  if  she  were  dead ! ." 

he  paused, — amazed  at  his  own  thought.  "If  she  were 
dead,  it  would  be  easy  to  swear  /  had  painted  the  picture ! 
If  she  were  dead !  "  Again  he  listened.  "  Angela !  "  he 
whispered. 

A  door  banging  in  the  house  startled  him  from  his 
semi-stupor.  His  eyes  wandered  from  the  picture  to  the 
inanimate  form  lying  at  his  feet. 

"  Sweet  Angela !  "  he  said,  a  cold  smile  flickering  on  his 
lips,  "  You  were  always  unselfish !  You  wished  me  to 
be  the  greatest  artist  of  my  time ! — and  perhaps  I  shall  be ! 
— now  you  are  dead !  My  love !  " 

A  sudden  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  and  rolling  wheels 
wakened  hollow  echoes  from  the  great  stone  courtyard 
below.  It  was  the  Cardinal  returning  from  the  Vatican. 
A  panic  seized  him — his  teeth  chattered  as  with  icy  cold. 
He  sprang  swiftly  to  the  door  by  which  Angela  had  ad- 
mitted him,  and  opened  it  cautiously, — then  slinking  out, 
locked  it  carefully  behind  him,  took  the  key, — and  fled. 
Once  in  the  street,  he  never  paused  till  he  reached  "the 
corner  of  a  dark  projecting  wall  over-looking  the  Tiber, 
and  here,  glancing  nervously  round  lest  he  should  be  ob- 
served, he  flung  his  murderer's  dagger  and  the  key  of 
the  studio  both  into  the  water.  Again  he  paused  and 
listened — looking  up  at  .the  frowning  windows  of  the 
Palazzo  Sovrani  which  could  be  dimly  seen  from  where 
he  stood.  He  had  not  meant  to  kill  Angela.  Oh  no! 
He  had  come  to  the  studio,  full  of  love,  prepared  to  chide 
her  tenderly  for  the  faults  in  her  work, — till  he  saw  that 
it  was  faultless;  to  make  a  jest  of  her  ambition, — till  he 
realized  her  triumph !  And  then, — then  the  devil  had 

seized  him — then !     A    scarlet    slit    in   the    western 

horizon  showed  where  the  sun  had  sunk, — a  soft  and 
beautiful  after-glow  trembled  over  the  sky  in  token  of  its 
farewell.  A  boy  came  strolling  lazily  down  the  street 
eating  a  slice  of  melon,  and  paused  to  fling  the  rind  over 
the  wall.  The  innocent,  unconscious  glance  of  the  strip- 
ling's eyes  was  sufficient  to  set  up  a  cowardly  trembling 


The  Master-Christian.  441 

in  his  body, — and  turning  round  abruptly  so  that  even 
this  stray  youth  might  not  observe  him  too  closely,  he 
hurried  away.  And  the  boy,  never  regarding  him  at  all, 
strolled  on  with  the  mellow  taste  of  the  fruit  he  had  just 
enjoyed  in  his  mouth,  and  presently,  as  if  inspired 
thereby,  awoke  the  slumbering  echoes  of  the  street  with 
his  high,  fluting  young  treble,  singing, 
"  Che  faro  senza  Eurydice !  " 


XXX. 

MEANWHILE  Cardinal  Bonpre  had  once  more  reached 
his  own  apartments,  thankful  enough  to  be  there  after  his 
difficult  experience  at  the  Vatican.  But  he  was  neither 
fatigued  nor  depressed  by  what  had  occurred, — on  the 
contrary  he  was  conscious  of  an  extraordinary  vigour  and 
lightness  of  heart,  as  though  he  had  suddenly  grown 
young  again.  Changing  his  scarlet  robes  of  office  for 
his  every-day  cassock,  he  seated  himself  restfully,  and 
with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  in  his  easy  chair  near  the 
writing-table,  and  first  of  all  closing  his  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment, while  he  silently  prayed  for  guidance  to  the  Su- 
preme Judge  of  all  secret  intentions,  he  called  Manuel 
to  his  side. 

"  My  child,"  he  said  gently,  "  I  want  you  to  listen  to 
me  very  attentively.  I  do  not  think  you  quite  understand 
what  you  have  done  to-day,  do  you  ?  " 

Manuel  raised  his  eyes  with  a  clear  look  of  confidence. 

"  Yes.  I  have  spoken  to  the  Head  of  the  Church  of 
Rome,"  he  answered, — "  That  is  all.  I  have  said  to  him, 
as  Christ  once  said  to  the  very  Peter  whom  he  represents, 
'  Thou  savourest  not  the  things  that  be  of  God,  but  those 
that  be  of  men.'  " 

The  Cardinal  regarded  him  straightly. 

"  True !  But  for  you,  a  mere  child,  to  say  to  the  Head 
of  the  Church  what  Christ  said  to  St.  Peter,  will  be 
judged  as  blasphemy.  I  have  never  urged  you,  as  you 
know,  to  tell  me  who  you  are,  or  where  you  came  from. 
I  do  not  urge  you  now.  For  I  feel  that  you  have  been 
sent  to  me  for  some  special  purpose, — that  young  as  you 
are,  you  have  been  entrusted  by  a  Higher  Power  with 
some  mission  to  me — for  you  possess  the  spirit  of  in- 
spiration, prophecy  and  truth.  I  dare  not  question  that 
spirit !  Wherever  I  find  it,  in  the  young,  in  the  old,  in 
the  wise  or  the  ignorant  I  give  it  welcome.  For  you 
have  uttered  not  only  what  I  have  myself  thought,  but 
what  half  the  world  is  thinking,  though  you  are  only  one 


The  Master-Christian.  443 

of  those  '  babes  and  sucklings  out  of  whose  mouth  the 
Lord  hath  ordained  wisdom.'  But  what  you  have  said 
at  the  Vatican  will  be  judged  as  heresy — and  I  shall  be 
counted  heretic  for  having  permitted  you  to  speak  thus 
boldly." 

"  Your  permission  was  not  asked,"  said  Manuel  simply, 
"  I  was  summoned  to  the  Vatican,  but  I  was  not  told 
what  to  say  to  the  Pope.  I  spoke  as  I  felt.  No  one  in- 
terrupted me.  The  Pope  listened  to  all  my  words.  And 
I  said  no  more  than  is  true." 

"  Truth  is  judged  as  libel  nowadays  in  the  world,"  an- 
swered the  Cardinal,  "  And  we  have  to  confront  the  fact 
that  we  have  incurred  the  displeasure,  and  have  also  in- 
vited the  vengeance  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff.  Thus  we 
must  expect  to  suffer." 

"  Then  he  who  is  called  the  visible  Head  of  Christianity 
objects  to  the  truth,  and  is  capable  of  vengeance !  "  said 
Manuel,  "That  is  a  strange  contradiction!  But  I  will 
suffer  whatever  he  pleases  to  inflict  upon  me.  You  shall 
suffer  nothing !  " 

The  Cardinal  smiled  gravely. 

"  My  child,  I  am  old,  and  whatever  trouble  is  in  store 
for  me  cannot  last  long.  But  I  must  guard  you  from 
harm  with  all  the  remaining  powers  of  my  life.  Having 
constituted  myself  your  protector  and  defender,  I  must 
continue  to  protect  and  defend.  And  so,  Manuel,  to- 
morrow or  the  next  day  I  shall  take  you  away  to  Eng- 
land. So  far.  at  least,  I  will  defy  the  powers  of  Rome !  " 

His  eyes  flashed,  and  his  whole  person  seemed  to  be 
invested  with  sudden  strength,  dignity  and  command. 
He  pointed  to  the  crucifix  on  the  table  before  him. 

"  He,  the  Holy  One  of  the  Heavens,  was  crucified  for 
speaking  the  truth, — I  can  do  no  better  than  follow  His 
divine  example!  If  my  soul  is  stretched  on  the  cross- 
beams of  injustice — if  every  tender  emotion  of  my  heart 
is  tortured  and  slain — if  I  am  stripped  of  honour  and  ex- 
posed to  contempt,  what  matter!  My  glorious  Master 
suffered  likewise." 

Manuel  was  silent.  He  stood  near  the  great  chimney 
where  the  wood  fire  burned  and  crackled,  casting  a  ruddy 
glow  through  the  room.  After  a  few  minutes  he  turned 
his  fair  head  towards  the  Cardinal  with  an  earnest, 
scrutinising  gaze  in  his  expressive  eyes. 


444  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Then,  dear  friend,  you  are  not  angry  ?  You  do  not 
reproach  me  for  what  I  have  done  ?  " 

"  Reproach  you  ?  I  reproach  no  one !  "  said  Bonpre, 
— "  Least  of  all,  a  child !  For  you  speak  unconsciously — 
as  genius  speaks ; — you  cannot  weigh  the  meaning  of 
your  words,  or  the  effect  of  what  you  say  on  the  worldly 
or  callous  minds  which  have  learned  to  balance  motives 
and  meanings  before  coining  them  into  more  or  less  am- 
biguous language.  No ! — I  have  nothing  to  reproach  you 
with,  Manuel, — I  am  thankful  to  have  you  by  my  side !  " 

His  eyes  rested  again  upon  the  crucifix  for  a  moment, 
and  he  went  on,  more  to  himself  than  to  the  boy, — 

"  In  the  early  days  of  our  Lord,  He  spoke  to  the  wise 
men  in  the  Temple,  and  they  were  '  astonished  at  his  un- 
derstanding and  answers.'  But  they  did  not  reprove 
Him, — not  then, — on  the  contrary,  they  listened.  How 
often  in  our  own  days  do  young  children  ask  us  questions 
to  which  we  cannot  reply,  and  which  they  themselves  per- 
chance could  easily  answer  if  the;  but  knew  how  to 
clothe  their  thoughts  with  speech !  For  the  Spirit  of 
God  is  made  manifest  in  many  ways,  and  through  many 
methods ; — sometimes  it  whispers  a  hint  or  a  warning  to 
us  in  the  petals  of  the  rose,  sometimes  in  the  radiance  of 
the  sunset  on  the  sea,  sometimes  in  the  simple  talk  of  a 
child  younger  even  than  you  are, — '  Except  ye  become 
as  little  children !  " 

He  paused  in  his  dreamy  utterance,  and  turned  in  his 
chair  listening.  "  What  is  that  ?  "  There  was  a  noise  of 
hurrying  footsteps  and  murmuring  voices, — that  sort  of 
half-muffled  confusion  in  a  household  which  bodes  some- 
thing wrong, — and  all  at  once  Prince  Sovrani  threw  open 
the  door  of  the  Cardinal's  apartments  without  ceremony, 
crying  out  as  he  entered, — 

"Where  is  Angela?" 

The  Cardinal  rose  out  of  his  chair,  startled  and 
alarmed. 

"  Angela?  "  he  echoed,  "  She  is  not  here !  " 

"  Not  here !  "  Prince  Sovrani  drew  a  sharp  breath, 
and  his  face  visibly  paled, — "  It  is  very  strange !  Her 
studio  is  locked  at  both  entrances — yet  the  servants  swear 
she  has  not  passed  out  of  the  house !  Besides  she  never 
goes  out  without  leaving  word  as  to  where  she  has  gone 
and  when  she  is  coming  back ! " 


The  Master-Christian.  445 

'  Her  studio  is  locked  on  both  sides !  "  repeated  the 
Cardinal,  "  But  that  is  quite  easy  to  understand — her  pic- 
ture is  unveiled,  and  no  one  is  to  be  permitted  to  see  it 
until  to-morrow." 

"  Yes — yes — "  said  the  Prince  Pietro  impatiently,  "  I 
know  all  that, — but  where  is  Angela  herself?  There  is 
no  sign  of  her  anywhere !  She  cannot  have  gone  out. 
Her  maid  tells  me  she  was  not  dressed  to  go  out. 
She  was  in  her  white  working  gown  when  last  seen. 
Santissima  Madonna!" — and  old  Sovrani  gave  a  wild 
gesture  of  despair — "  If  any  harm  has  happened  to  the 
child  .  .  ." 

"Harm?  Why  what  harm  could  happen?  What 
harm  could  happen  ?  "  said  the  Cardinal  soothingly, — 
"  My  dear  brother,  do  not  alarm  yourself  needlessly " 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  studio,"  interposed  Manuel  suddenly 
— "  She  may  not  have  heard  you  call  her." 

He  moved  in  his  gentle  light  way  out  of  the  room,  and 
without  another  word  they  followed.  Outside  the  studio 
door  they  paused,  and  Prince  Sovrani  tried  again  and 
again  to  open  it,  calling  "  Angela !  "  now  loudly,  now 
softly,  now  entreatingly,  now  commandingly,  all  to  no 
purpose.  The  servants  had  gathered  on  the  landing, 
afraid  of  they  knew  not  what,  and  one  old  man,  the 
Prince's  valet,  shook  his  head  dolefully  at  the  continued 
silence. 

"  Why  not  break  open  the  door,  Eccellenza  ? "  he 
asked  anxiously,  "  I  know  the  trick  of  those  old  locks — 
if  the  Eccellenza  will  permit  I  can  push  back  the  catch 
with  a  strong  chisel." 

"  Do  so  then,"  replied  his  master,  "  I  cannot  wait — 
there  is  something  horrible  in  the  atmosphere ! — some- 
thing that  chokes  me !  Quick !  This  suspense  will  kill 
me!  " 

The  old  valet  hurried  away,  and  in  two  or  three  min- 
utes, during  which  time  both  Prince  Sovrani  and  the 
Cardinal  knocked  and  called  again  outside  the  door  quite 
uselessly,  he  returned  with  a  strong  iron  chisel  which 
he  forced  against  the  lock.  For  some  time  it  resisted 
all  efforts — then  with  appalling  suddenness  gave  way  and 
flew  back,  the  door  bursting  wide  open  with  the  shock. 
For  one  instant  the  falling  shadows  of  evening  made  the 
interior  of  the  room  too  dim  to  see  distinctly — there  was 


446  The  Master-Christian. 

a  confused  blur  of  objects, — the  carved  summit  of  a 
great  easel, — a  gold  picture-frame  shining  round  a  won- 
derful mass  of  colouring  on  canvas then  gradually 

they  discerned  the  outline  of  a  small  figure  lying 
prone  at  the  foot  of  the  easel,  stiff  and  motionless. 
With  a  dreadful  cry  of  despair  Sovrani  dashed  into  the 
room. 

"  Angela !     Angela !  " 

Falling  on  his  knees  he  raised  the  delicate  figure  in  his 
arms, — the  little  head  drooped  inanimate  on  his  shoulder, 
and  with  the  movement  a  coil  of  golden  hair  became  un- 
bound, and  fell  in  soft  waves  over  his  trembling  hands — 
the  fair  face  was  calm  and  tranquil — the  eyes  were  closed, 
— but  as  the  distracted  man  clasped  that  inert,  beloved 
form  closer,  he  saw  what  caused  him  to  spring  erect  with 
a  terrible  oath,  and  cry  for  vengeance. 

"  Murdered !  "  he  exclaimed  hoarsely — "  Murdered ! 

Brother,  come  close ! see  here !  Will  you  talk  to 

me  of  God  now!  My  last  comfort  in  life — the  last  gift 
of  my  Gita,  murdered !  " 

The  affrighted  Cardinal  tottered  forward,  and  looking, 
saw  that  a  deep  stain  of  blood  oozed  over  the  soft  white 
garments  of  the  lifeless  girl,  and  he  wrung  his  hands  in 
despair. 

"  My  God !  My  God !  "  he  moaned,  "  In  what  have  we 
offended  Thee  that  Thou  shouldst  visit  us  with  such  heavy 
affliction  ?  Angela,  my  child  ! — my  little  girl ! — An- 
gela !  " 

The  servants  had  by  this  time  clustered  round,  a  pale 
and  terrified  group,  sobbing  and  crying  loudly, — only 
the  old  valet  retained  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  light 
two  or  three  of  the  lamps  in  the  studio.  As  this  was 
done,  and  the  sudden  luminance  dispersed  some  of  the 
darker  shadows  in  the  room,  the  grand  picture  on  the 
easel  was  thrown  into  full  prominence, — and  the  mag- 
nificent Christ,  descending  in  clouds  of  glory,  seemed 
to  start  from  the  painted  canvas  and  move  towards  them 
all.  And  even  while  he  wrung  his  hands  and  wept,  the 
Cardinal's  glance  was  suddenly  caught  and  transfixed 
by  this  splendour, — he  staggered  back  amazed,  and  mur- 
mured feebly — "  Angela !  7* his  is  her  work ! this 

her  great  picture,  and  she — she  is  dead !  " 

Sovrani  suddenly  clutched  him  by  the  arm,  and  drew 


The  Master-Christian.  447 

him  close  to  the  couch  where  he  had  just  laid  the  body  of 
his  daughter  down. 

"  Now,  where  was  this  God  you  serve,  think  you,  when 
this  happened?  "  he  demanded,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  while 
his  aged  eyes  glittered  feverishly,-  and  his  stern  dark  face 
under  the  tossed  white  hair  was  as  a  frowning  mask  of 
vengeance, — "  Is  the  world  so  rich  in  sweet  wromen  that 
she  should  be  slain?  " 

Half  paralysed  with  grief,  the  unhappy  Cardinal  sank 
on  his  knees  beside  the  murdered  girl, — taking  the  pas- 
sive hand  he  kissed  it,  the  tears  flowing  down  his  fur- 
rowed cheeks.  Her  magnificent  picture  shone  forth,  a 
living  presence  in  the  room,  but  the  thoughts  of  all  were 
for  the  dead  only,  and  the  distracted  Sovrani  saw  nothing 
but  his  child's  pale,  set  face,  closed  eyes,  and  delicate  fig- 
ure, lying  still  with  the  red  stain  of  blood  spreading 
through  the  whiteness  of  her  garments.  None  of  them 
thought  of  Manuel — and  it  was  with  a  shock  of  surprise 
that  the  Cardinal  became  aware  of  him,  and  saw  him  ap- 
proaching the  couch,  raising  his  hand  as  he  came,  wacn- 
ingly. 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  he  said,  very  gently,  "  It  may  be  that 
she  is  not  dead !  She  will  be  frightened  when  she  wakes 
if  she  sees  you  weeping !  " 

Prince  Sovrani  caught  the  words. 

"  When  she  wakes !  "  he  cried,  "  Poor  boy,  you  do  not 
know  what  you  say!  She  will  never  wake!  She  is 
dead !  " 

But  Manuel  was  bending  closely  over  the  couch,  and 
looking  earnestly  into  Angela's  quiet  face.  Cardinal 
Bonpre  watched  him  wonderingly.  And  the  old  Prince 
stood,  arrested  as  it  were  in  the  very  midst  of  his  wrath 
and  sorrow  by  some  force  more  potent  than  even  the 
spirit  of  vengeance.  The  sobbing  servants  held  their 
breath — and  all  stared  as  if  fascinated  at  the  young  boy, 
as  after  a  pause,  he  took  Angela's  hand  that  hung  so  in- 
ertly down,  in  one  of  his  own,  and  with  the  other  felt  her 
heart.  Then  he  spoke. 

"  She  is  not  dead !  "  he  said  simply, — "  She  has  only 
swooned.  Let  someone  fetch  a  physician  to  attend  her 
— see  ! — she  breathes !  " 

With  a  wild,  half-smothered  cry  Prince  Sovrani  sprang 
forward  to  see  for  himself  if  this  blessed  news  was  true. 


448  The  Master-Christian. 

He  and  the  Cardinal  both,  seized  with  a  passionate  anx- 
iety, gazed  and  gazed  at  the  fair  beloved  face  in  hope,  in 
fear  and  longing, — and  still  Manuel  stood  beside  the 
couch,  stroking  the  small  hand  he  held  with  thoughtful 
care  and  tenderness.  All  at  once  a  faint  sigh  parted  the 
sweet  lips, — the  bosom  heaved  with  a  struggle  for  breath. 
Her  father  fell  on  his  knees,  overcome,  and  hiding  his 
face  in  his  hands  sobbed  aloud  in  the  intensity  of  his  re- 
lief and  joy,  while  the  Cardinal  murmured  a  devout 
'  Thank  God ! '  A  few  minutes  passed,  and  still  the  flut- 
tering uncertain  breathings  came  and  went,  and  still  Man- 
uel stood  by  the  couch,  quietly  watchful.  Presently  the 
closed  eyelids  quivered  and  lifted, — and  the  beautiful  true 
eyes  shone  star-like  out  upon  the  world  again !  She 
stirred,  and  tried  to  raise  herself,  but  sank  back  exhausted 
in  the  effort.  Then  seeing  the  Cardinal,  she  smiled, — and 
her  gaze  wandered  slowly  to  the  bent,  white-haired  figure 
crouching  beside  her,  whose  whole  frame  was  shaken  by 
sobs. 

"Father!"  she  murmured— "  Dearest  father!  What 
is  it?" 

He  lifted  his  tear-stained,  agonised  face,  and  seeing 
that  the  tender  eyes  regarding  him  were  full  of  fear  and 
wonder  as  well  as  love,  he  instantly  controlled  himself, 
and  rising  from  his  knees,  kissed  her  gently. 

"  I  thought  you  were  dead,  my  darling ! "  he  said 

softly "  Hush  now — do  not  speak !  Lie  quite  still ! 

You  are  hurt  a  little, — you  must  rest ! — you  will  be  better, 
— much  better  presently !  " 

But  Angela's  looks  had  again  wandered,  and  now  they 
were  fixed  on  Manuel.  Over  her  whole  face  there  came 
a  sudden  life  and  radiance. 

"  Manuel !  "  she  said  eagerly — "  Manuel,  stay  with 
me !  Do  not  leave  me !  " 

Manuel  smiled  in  answer  to  her  appealing  eyes,  and 
came  nearer. 

"  Do  not  fear !  "  he  said—"  I  will  stay !  " 

She  closed  her  eyes  again  restfully,  and  her  breathing 
grew  lighter  and  easier.  Just  then  one  of  the  servants 
entered  with  the  physician  who  was  accustomed  to  at- 
tend the  Sovrani  household.  His  arrival  roused  Angela 
completely, — she  became  quite  conscious,  and  evidently 
began  to  remember  something  of  what  had  happened. 


The  Master-Christian.  449 

The  doctor  raised  her  to  see  where  she  was  injured,  and 
quickly  cutting  away  her  blood-stained  vesture,  tenderly 
and  carefully  examined  the  wound. 

"  I  cannot  understand  how  it  is  that  she  is  not  dead !  " 
he  said  at  last — "  It  is  a  miracle !  This  is  a  stab  inflicted 
with  some  sharply  pointed  instrument, — probably  a  dag- 
ger— and  was  no  doubt  intended  to  be  mortal.  As  it  is, 
it  is  dangerous — but  there  is  a  chance  of  life."  Then  he 
addressed  himelf  to  Angela,  who  was  looking  at  him  with 
wide-open  eyes  and  a  most  piteous  expression.  "  Do  you 
know  me,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  doctor !  "  she  murmured  faintly. 

"  Do  you  suffer  much  pain  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  can  you  tell  me  how  this  happened  ?  Who 
stabbed  you  ?  " 

She  shuddered  and  sighed. 

"  Xo  one ! — that  I  can  remember !  " 

Her  eyes  closed — she  moved  her  hands  about  restlessly 
as  though  seeking  for  something  she  had  lost. 

"  Manuel !  " 

"  I  am  here !  "  answered  the  boy  gently. 

"  Stay  with  me !     I  am  so  tired !  " 

Again  a  convulsive  trembling  shook  her  fragile  body 
from  head  to  foot,  and  again  she  sighed  as  though  her 
heart  were  breaking, — then  she  lay  passively  still,  though 
one  or  two  tears  crept  down  her  cheeks  as  they  carried 
her  tenderly  up  to  her  own  room  and  laid  her  down  on 
her  simple  little  white  bed,  softly  curtained,  and  guarded 
by  a  statue  of  the  Virgin  bending  over  it.  There,  when 
her  cruel  wound  was  dressed  and  bandaged,  and  the  phy- 
sician had  given  her  a  composing  draught,  she  fell  into  a 
deep,  refreshing  slumber,  and  only  Manuel  stayed  beside 
her  as  she  slept. 

Meanwhile,  down  in  the  studio,  Prince  Sovrani  and  the 
Cardinal  stayed  together,  talking  softly,  and  gazing  in 
fascinated  wonder,  bewilderment,  admiration  and  awe  at 
Angela's  work  unveiled.  All  the  lamps  in  the  room  were 
now  lit,  and  the  great  picture — a  sublime  Dream  resolved 
into  sublime  Reality — shone  out  as  much  as  the  arti- 
ficial light  would  permit, — a  jewel  of  art  that  seemed  to 
contain  within  itself  all  the  colour  and  radiance  of  a 
heaven  unknown,  unseen  yet  surely  near  at  hand.  The 


450  The  Master-Christian. 

figure  and  face  of  the  approaching  Saviour,  instinct  with 
life,  expressed  almost  in  positive  speech  the  words,  "  Then 
shall  ye  see  the  Son  of  Man  coming  in  the  clouds  with 
great  power  and  glory  " ! — and  if  Cardinal  Bonpre  had 
given  way  to  the  innermost  emotions  of  his  soul,  he  could 
have  knelt  before  the  exalted  purity  of  such  a  conception 
of  the  Christ, — a  god-like  ideal,  brought  into  realization 
by  the  exalted  imagination,  the  holy  thoughts,  and  the 
faithful  patient  work  of  a  mere  woman ! 

"  This — "  he  said,  in  hushed  accents — "  This  must  be 
the  cause  of  the  dastardly  attempt  made  to  murder  the 
child !  Some  one  who  knew  her  secret, — some  one  who 
was  aware  of  the  wonderful  power  and  magnificence  of 
her  work, — perhaps  the  very  man  who  made  the  frame 
for  it, who  can  tell  ?  " 

Prince  Pietro  meditated  deeply,  a  frown  puckering  his 
brows, — his  countenance  was  still  pale  and  drawn  with 
the  stress  of  the  mingled  agony  and  relief  he  had  just 
passed  through,  and  the  anxiety  he  felt  concerning  An- 
gela's immediate  critical  condition. 

"  I  cannot  hold  the  position  yet ! —  "  he  said,  at  last — 
"  That  is  to  say,  I  am  too  numb  and  stricken  with  fear 
to  realize  what  has  happened !  See  you !  That  picture 
is  marvellous  ! — a  wonder  of  the  world ! — it  will  crown  my 
girl  with  all  the  laurels  of  a  lasting  fame, — but  what 
matter  is  it  to  me, — this  shouting  of  the  public, — if  she 
dies?  Will  it  console  me  for  her  loss,  to  call  her  a  Raf- 
faelle?" 

"  Nay,  but  we  must  not  give  up  hope !  " — said  the  Car- 
dinal soothingly — "  Please  God,  you  will  not  lose  her ! 
Be  glad  that  she  is  not  dead, — and  remember  that  it  is 
almost  by  a  miracle  that  she  lives !  " 

"  That  is  true — that  is  true !  "  murmured  old  Sovrani, 
ruffling  his  white  hair  with  one  hand,  while  he  still  stared 
abstractedly  at  his  daughter's  picture — "  You  are  very 
patient  with  me,  brother! — you  have  all  the  kindness  as 
well  as  all  the  faithfulness  of  your  sister, — the  sweetest 
woman  the  sun  was  ever  privileged  to  shine  on !  Well, 
well !  What  did  you  say  to  me  ?  That  this  picture  must 
have  been  the  cause  of  the  attempted  murder?  Maybe. 
— but  the  poor  hard-working  fellow  who  made  the  frame 
for  it,  could  not  have  done  such  a  deed, — he  has  been  a 
pensioner  of  Angela's  for  many  a  long  day,  and  she  has 


The  Master-Christian.  451 

given  him  employment  when  he  could  not  obtain  it  from 
others.  Besides,  he  never  saw  the  picture.  Angela  gave 
him  her  measurements,  and  when  the  frame  was  finished 
he  brought  it  to  her  here.  But  he  had  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  setting  the  canvas  in  it, — that  I  know,  for 
Angela  herself  told  me.  No,  no! — let  us  not  blame  the 
innocent ;  rather  let  us  try  to  find  the  guilty." 

At  that  moment  a  servant  entered  with  a  large  and  ex- 
quisitely arranged  basket  of  lilies-of-the-valley,  and  a 
letter. 

"  For  Donna  Sovrani,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  both  to 
his  master. 

The  Prince  took  the  basket  of  lilies,  and  moved  by  a 
sudden  fancy,  set  it  gently  in  front  of  Angela's  great 
work.  Glancing  at  the  superscription  of  the  letter,  he 
said, — 

"  From  Varillo.  I  had  better  open  it  and  see  what  he 
says." 

He  broke  the  seal  and  read  the  following: 

"  SWEETEST  ANGELA, — I  am  summoned  to  Naples  on 
business,  and  therefore,  to  my  infinite  regret,  shall  not  be 
able  to  see  the  great  picture  to-morrow.  You  know, — you 
can  feel  how  sorry  I  am  to  disappoint  both  you  and  my- 
self in  a  pleasure  which  we  have  so  long  lovingly  antic- 
ipated, but  as  the  Queen  has  promised  to  make  her  visit 
of  inspection,  I  dare  not  ask  you  to  put  off  the  exhibition 
of  your  work  till  my  return.  But  I  know  I  shall  come 
back  to  find  my  Angela  crowned  with  glory,  and  it  will 
be  reserved  for  me  to  add  the  last  laurel  leaf  to  the  im- 
mortal wreath !  I  am  grieved  that  I  have  no  time  to 
come  and  press  my  '  addio  '  on  your  sweet  lips, — but  in 
two  or  three  days  at  most,  I  shall  be  again  at  your  feet. 
Un  bacio  di 

FLORIAN." 

;'  Then  he  has  left  for  Naples  ?  "  said  Bonpre,  to  whom 
Prince  Pietro  had  read  this  letter — "  A  sudden  departure, 
is  it  not?" 

"Very  sudden!" 

"  He  will  not  know  what  has  happened  to  Angela " 

"  Oh  he  will  be  sure  to  hear  that !  "  said  the  Prince — 
"  To-night  it  will  be  in  all  the  newspapers  both  of  Rome 


452  The  Master-Christian. 

and  Naples.  Angela's  light  cannot  be  hidden  under  a 
bushel !  " 

"  True.    Then  of  course  he  will  return  at  once." 

"  Naturally.  If  he  hears  the  news  on  his  way,  he  will 
probably  be  back  to-night — "  said  Sovrani,  but  his  fuzzy 
brows  were  still  puckered.  Some  uncomfortable  thought 
seemed  to  trouble  him, — and  presently,  as  if  moved  by  a 
sudden  inexplicable  instinct,  he  took  the  basket  of  lilies 
away  from  where  he  had  set  it  in  front  of  his  daughter's 
picture,  and  transferred  it  to  a  side-table.  Cardinal  Bon- 
pre,  always  observant,  noticed  his  action. 

"  You  will  not  leave  the  flowers  there  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  No.  The  picture  is  a  sacred  thing ! — it  is  an 
almost  living  Christ ! — in  whom  Varillo  does  not  be- 
lieve!" 

The  Cardinal  lifted  his  eyes  protestingly. 

"  Yet  you  let  the  child  marry  him  ?  " 

Sovrani  passed  one  hand  wearily  across  his  brows. 

"  Let  us  not  talk  of  marriage,"  he  said — "  Death  is 
nearer  to  us  to-day  than  life !  I  am  opposed  to  the  match 

— I  always  have  been, — and  who  knows who  knows 

what  may  not  yet  prevent  it —  He  paused,  think- 

ing,— then  turning  a  solicitous  glance  on  his  brother-in- 
law's  frail  figure  he  said — "  Felix,  you  look  weary, — let 
me  attend  you  to  your  own  rooms,  that  you  may  rest.  We 
need  you  with  us, — it  may  be  that  we  shall  need  you  more 
than  we  have  ever  done !  Pray  for  us,  brother ! — Pray 
for  my  Angela,  that  she  may  be  spared — 

His  harsh  voice  broke, — and  tears  trickled  down  his 
furrowed  cheeks. 

"  See  you !  "  he  said,  pointing  in  a  kind  of  despaif  to 
the  magnificent  "  Coming  of  Christ  " — "  If  Raffaelle  or 
Angelo  had  dared  to  paint  this  in  their  day,  the  world 
would  be  taking  a  lesson  from  it  now !  If  it  were  a  mod- 
ern man's  work,  that  man  would  be  a  centre  for  hero- 
worship!  But  that  a  woman  should  create  such  a  mas- 
terpiece!— and  that  woman  my  Angela!  Do  you  know 
what  it  means,  Felix? — what  Fame  always  means,  what 
it  always  must  mean — for  a  woman?  Just  what  has  al- 
ready happened, — the  murderous  dagger-thrust — the 
coward  stab  in  the  back — and  the  little  child's  cry  of  the 

tender  broken  heart  we  heard  just  now '  Stay  with 

*ne  I — I  am  so  tired ! '  " 


The  Master-Christian.  453 

The  Cardinal  pressed  his  hand  sympathetically,  too  pro- 
foundly moved  himself  to  speak. 

;'  This  picture  will  bring  down  the  thunders  of  the  Vat- 
ican ! — "  went  on  Sovrani — "  And  those  thunders  will 
awaken  a  responsive  echo  from  the  world !  But  not  from 
the  Old  World — the  .New  !  The  New  World ! — yes — my 
Angela's  work  is  for  the  living  present,  the  coming  fu- 
ture— not  for  the -decayed  Past!" 

As  he  spoke,  he  dropped  the  silken  curtain  before  the 
picture  and  hid  it  from  view. 

"  We  will  raise  it  again  when  the  painter  lives — or 
dies !  "  he  said  brokenly. 

They  left  the  studio,  Prince  Pietro  extinguishing  the 
lights,  and  giving  orders  to  his  servant  to  put  a  strong 
bar  across  the  door  they  had  forced  open, — and  the  Car- 
dinal, feeling  more  lonely  than  he  had  done  for  many 
days,  owing  to  the  temporary  absence  of  Manuel  who  was 
keeping  watch  over  Angela,  returned  to  his  own  apart- 
ments full  of  grave  thoughts  and  anxious  trouble.  He 
had  meant  to  leave  Rome  at  once, — but  now,  such  a 
course  seemed  more  than  impossible.  Yet  he  knew  that 
the  scene  which  had,  through  himself  indirectly,  occurred 
at  the  Vatican,  would  have  its  speedy  results  in  some  de- 
cisive and  vengeful  action,  if  not  on  the  part  of  the  Su- 
preme Pontiff,  then  through  his  ministers  and  advisers, 
and  Bonpre  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  secret 
ways  of  the  Church  he  served,  to  be  well  aware  of  its  re- 
lentlessness  in  all  cases  where  its  authority  was  called 
into  question.  The  first  step  taken,  so  he  instinctively  felt, 
would  be  to  deprive  him  of  Manuel's  companionship, — the 
next  perhaps,  to  threaten  him  with  the  loss  of  his  own  dio- 
cese. He  sighed  heavily, — yet  in  his  own  tranquil  and 
pious  mind  he  could  not  say  that  he  resented  the  position 
his  affairs  had  taken.  Accustomed  as  he  was  always,  to 
submit  the  whole  daily  course  of  his  life  to  the  ruling  of 
a  Higher  Power,  he  was  framed  and  braced  as  temper- 
ately for  adversity  as  for  joy, — and  nothing  seemed  to 
him  either  fortunate  or  disastrous  except  as  concerned 
the  attitude  in  which  the  soul  received  the  announcement 
of  God's  will.  To  resent  affliction  was,  in  his  opinion, 
sinful ;  to  accept  it  reverently  and  humbly  as  a  means  of 
grace,  and  endeavour  to  make  sweetness  out  of  the  seem- 
ing bitterness  of  the  divine  dispensation,  appeared  to  him 


454  The  Master-Christian. 

the  only  right  and  natural  way  of  duty, — hence  his  clear 
simplicity  of  thought,  his  patience,  plain  faith,  and  purity 
of  aim.  And  even  now,  perplexed  and  pained  as  he  was, 
much  more  for  the  sorrow  which  had  befallen  his  brother- 
in-law,  than  for  any  trouble  likely  to  occur  personally  to 
himself,  he  was  still  able  to  disentangle  his  thoughts  from 
all  earthly  cares — to  lift  up  his  heart,  unsullied  bv  com- 
plaint, to  the  Ruler  of  all  destinies — and  to  resign  himself 
with  that  Christian  philosophy,  which  when  truly  prac- 
tised, is  so  much  more  powerful  than  all  the  splendid 
stoicism  of  the  heroic  pagans,  to  those 

"  Glorious  God-influences, 

Which  we,  unseeing,  feel  and  grope  for  blindly, 
Like  children  in  the  dark,  knowing  that  Love  is  near  !  " 

Meanwhile  Prince  Pietro,  moved  by  conflicting  senti- 
ments and  forebodings  which  he  was  unable  to  explain  to 
himself,  and  only  strongly  conscious  of  the  desire  to  be 
avenged  on  his  daughter's  cowardly  assailant,  whoever 
it  might  be,  muffled  himself  in  a  well-worn  "  Almaviva  " 
cloak,  his  favourite  out-door  garment,  pulled  his  hat  down 
over  his  eyes,  and  so,  looking  like  a  fierce  old  brigand  of 
the  mountains,  went  out,  not  quite  knowing  why  he 
went,  but  partly  impelled  by  a  sense  of  curiosity.  He 
wanted  to  hear  something, — to  find  something, — and  yet 
he  could  not  agree  with  himself  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
circumstance  he  sought  to  discover.  There  was  a  lurking 
suspicion  in  his  mind  to  which  he  would  not  give  a  name, 
— a  dark  thought  that  made  him  tremble  with  mingled 
rage  and  horror, — but  he  put  it  away  from  him  as  a  hint 
offered  by  the  Evil  One — an  insidious  suggestion  as 
hideous  as  it  was  unnatural.  The  afternoon  had  now 
closed  into  night,  and  many  stars  were  glistening  bravely 
in  the  purple  depths  of  the  clear  sky, — the  air  was  mild 
and  balmy, — and  as  he  crossed  the  road  to  turn  down  the 
little  side  street  leading  to  the  Tiber,  where  Florian  Va- 
rillo  had  stood  but  a  few  hours  previously,  a  flower-girl 
met  him  with  a  large  basket  of  white  hyacinths  and  held 
them  up  to  his  eyes. 

"  Ecco  la  primavera,  Signor!"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  turned  abruptly  away, — as  he 
did  so,  his  foot  struck  against  some  slight  obstacle. 
Stooping  to  examine  it,  he  saw  it  was  the  empty  leathern 


The  Master-Christian.  455 

sheath  of  a  dagger.  He  picked  it  up,  and  studied  it  in- 
tently. It  was  elaborately  adorned  with  old  rococco  work, 
and  was  evidently  the  ornamental  covering  of  one  of  those 
small  but  deadly  weapons  which  Italians,  both  men  and 
women,  so  often  wear  concealed  about  their  persons,  for 
the  purpose  of  taking  vengeance,  when  deemed  necessary, 
on  an  unsuspecting  enemy.  Slipping  the  thing  into  his 
pocket,  the  Prince  looked  about  him,  and  soon  recog- 
nised his  bearings, — he  was  standing  about  six  yards 
away  from  the  private  back-entrance  to  his  daughter's 
studio.  He  walked  up  to  the  door  and  tried  it, — it  was 
fast  locked. 

"  Yes 1  remember ! the  servants  told  me 

both  doors  were  locked, and  from  this  they  said  the 

key  was  gone, — "  he  muttered,  then  paused. 

Presently,  actuated  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  turned  and 
walked  swiftly  with  long  impatient  strides  through  the 
more  populated  quarters  of  Rome  towards  the  Corso,  and 
he  had  not  proceeded  very  far  in  this  direction  before  he 
heard  a  frenzied  and  discordant  shouting  which,  though 
he  knew  it  did  not  yet  bear  the  truth  in  its  harsh  refrain, 
yet  staggered  him  and  made  his  heart  almost  stand  still 
with  an  agony  of  premonitory  fear. 

"  Morte  di  Angela  Sozrani!" 

"  Assassinaincjito  di  Angela  Soirani!" 

"Morte  subito  di  Angela  Sozrani!" 

" Assassinaincnto  cntdele  della  bella  Sozrani!" 

Prince  Pietro  held  his  breath  in  sharp  pain,  listening. 
How  horrible  was  the  persistent  cry  of  the  neWsvendors ! 
— hoarse  and  shrill — now  near — now  far! — 

"Morte  di  Angela  Sozrani!" 

Ho\v  horrible ! — how  horrible !  He  put  his  hands  to 
his  ears  to  try  and  shut  out  the  din.  He  had  not  expected 

any  public  outcry — not  so  soon but  ill  news  travels 

fast,  and  no  doubt  the  very  servants  of  his  own  household 
were  responsible  for  having,  in  the  extremity  of  their 
terror,  given  a\vay  the  report  of  Angela's  death.  The 
terrible  shouts  were  like  so  many  cruel  blows  on  his  brain, 
— yet — half-reeling  with  the  shock  of  them,  he  still  went 
on  his  way, — straight  on  to  the  house  and  studio  of 
Florian  Varillo.  There,  he  rang  the  bell  loudly  and  im- 
patiently. A  servant  opened  the  door  in  haste,  and  stared 
aghast  at  the  tall  old  man  with  the  white  hair  and  blaz- 


456 


The  Master-Christian. 


ing  eyes,  who  was  wrapped  in  a  dark  cloak,  the  very 
folds  of  which  seemed  to  tremble  with  the  suppressed 
rage  of  the  form  it  enveloped. 

"//  Principe  Sovrani!"  he  stammered  feebly,  falling 
back  a  little  from  the  threshold. 

"  Where  is  your  master  ?  "  demanded  Sovrani. 

"  Eccellenza,  he  has  gone  to  Naples  !  " 

"When  did  he  leave?" 

"  But  two  hours  ago,  Eccellenzal" 

Prince  Pietro  held  up  the  dagger-sheath  he  had  just 
found. 

"  This — belongs — to — him — does  it  not  ?  "  he  asked 
slowly,  detaching  his  words  with  careful  directness. 

The  man  answered  readily  and  at  once. 

"Yes,  Eccellenzal" 

Sovrani  uttered  a  terrible  oath. 

"  Let  me  pass !  " 

The  servant  made  a  gesture  of  protest. 

"  But Eccellenza my  master  is  not  here !  .  .  .  " 

Prince  Pietro  paying  no  heed  to  him,  strode  into  the 
house,  and  brusquely  threw  open  the  door  of  a  room 
which  he  knew  to  be  Varillo's  own  specially  private  re- 
treat. A  woman  with  a  mass  of  bright  orange-gold  hair, 
half-dressed  in  a  tawdry  blue  peignoir  trimmed  with 
cheap  lace,  was  sprawling  lazily  on  a  sofa  smoking  a 
cigarette.  She1  sprang  up  surprised  and  indignant, — but 
shrank  back  visibly  as  she  recognised  the  intruder,  and 
met  the  steady  tigerish  glare  of  the  old  man's  eyes. 

"  Where*  is  your  lover  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Eccellenza !    You  amaze you  insult  me !  " 

"  Basta ! "  and  Sovrani  came  a  step  nearer  to  her,  his 
wrath  seeming  to  literally  encompass  him  like  a  thunder- 
cloud— "  Play  me  no  tricks !  This  is  not  the  time  for 
lying!  I  repeat  my  question — where  is  he?  You,  the 
companion  of  his  closest  thoughts, — you,  his  '  model  '- 
you,  Mademoiselle  Pon-Pon,  his  mistress — you  must 
know  all  his  movements.  Tell  me  then,  where  he  is — or 
by  heaven,  if  you  do  not,  I  will  have  you  arrested  for 
complicity  in  murder !  " 

She  fell  back  from  him  trembling,  her  full  red  mouth 
half  open, — and  her  face  paling  with  terror. 

"  Murder!  "  she  whispered " Dio  mio!    Dio  mio!" 

"  Yes — murder !  "   and   the   Prince  thrust  before   her 


The  Master-Christian.  457 

wide-opened  eyes  the  dagger-sheath  he  held — "  What ! 
Have  you  not  heard?  Not  yet?  Not  though  the  whole 
city  rings  with  the  news?  What  news?  That  Angela 
Sovrani  is  dead !  That  she — my  daughter — the  sweetest, 
purest,  most  innocent  and  loving  of  women  as  well  as  the 
greatest  and  most  gifted — has  been  mortally  stabbed  in 
her  own  studio  this  very  day  by  some  cowardly  fiend 
unknown  !  Unknown  did  I  say  ?  Not  so — known !  This 
sheath  belongs  to  Florian  Varillo.  Where  is  he  ?  Tell  me 
at  once — if  only  to  save  yourself  trouble!" 

Overcome  by  fear,  and  to  do  her  justice,  horror  as  well, 
the  miserable  Pon-Pon  threw  herself  on  her  knees. 

"  I  swear  he  has  gone  to  Naples !  "  she  cried — "  On  my 
word ! — as  I  live ! — I  swear  it ! — he  has  gone !  He  seemed 
as  usual, — he  was  not  in  any  haste — he  left  no  message 

— he  said  he  would  be  back  in  two  or  three  days he 

sent  flowers  to  la  Donna  Sovrani he  wrote  to  her 

.  .  .  O  Santissima  Virgine!  ...  I  swear  to  you  I  know 
nothing !  " 

The  Prince  eyed  her  with  grim  attention. 

"  They  are  shouting  it  in  the  streets — "  he  said — 
"  Listen !  "  He  held  up  one  hand, — she  cowered  on  the 
floor — she  could  hear  nothing,  and  she  stared  at  him  in 
fascinated  terror — "  They  are  telling  all  Rome  of  the 
death  of  my  child!  First  Rome — and  then — the  world! 
The  world  shall  hear  of  it !  For  there  is  only  one  Angela 
Sovrani, — and  earth  and  heaven  cry  out  for  justice  in  her 
name !  Tell  this  to  the  devil  who  has  bought  you  for  his 
pleasure !  I  leave  the  message  with  you, — tell  him  that 
when  the  world  clamours  for  vengeance  upon  her  mur- 
derer, /  know  "where  to  find  him !  " 

With  that,  he  put  the  dagger-sheath  back  in  his  breast- 
pocket with  jealous  care,  and  left  her  where  she  crouched, 
shivering  and  moaning.  Walking  as  in  a  dream  he 
brushed  past  the  astonished  and  frightened  servant  un- 
seeingly,  and  went  out  of  the  house  into  the  street  once 
more.  There  he  paused  dizzily, — the  stars  appeared  to 
rock  in  the  sky,  and  the  houses  seemed  moving  slowly 
round  him  in  a  sort  of  circular  procession.  The  shouting 
of  the  newsvendors  which  had  ceased  for  a  while,  began 
again  with  even  louder  persistency. 

"  Morte  di  Angela  Sovrani!" 

"La  bella  Sovrani! Assassinamento  crudele!" 


458  The  Master-Christian. 

The  old  man's  heart  beat  in  strong  hammer-strokes, — 
he  listened  vaguely, — his  tall  figure  shaking  a  little  with 
the  storm  pent-up  within  him,  till  all  at  once  as  if  the 
full  realization  of  the  position  had  only  just  burst  upon 
him,  he  uttered  a  sharp  cry — 

"Her  lover!  Her  promised  husband !  One  whom  she 
trusted  and  loved  more  than  her  own  father !  The  hope 
of  her  life! — the  man  whose  praise  was  sweeter  to  her 
than  the  plaudits  of  the  whole  world! — he — even  he — 
her  murderer!  For  even  if  she  lives  in  body,  he  has 
murdered  her  soul !  " 

He  looked  up  at  the  deep  starlit  heavens,  his  dark  face 
growing  livid  in  the  intensity  of  his  wrath  and  pain. 

"  May  God  curse  him !  "  he  whispered  thickly — "  May 
all  evil  track  his  footsteps,  and  the  terrors  of  a  cursed 
conscience  hound  him  to  his  death !  May  he  never  know 

peace  by  day  or  night ! may  the  devils  in  his  own 

soul  destroy  him !    God  curse  him !  " 

He  clenched  his  fist  and  raised  it  threateningly, — and 
gathering  his  cloak  about  him  tried  to  walk  on, — but 
there  was  a  black  mist  before  his  eyes  ...  he  could  not 

see he  stumbled   forward   blindly,   and   would   have 

fallen,  had  not  a  strong  arm  caught  him  and  held  him 
upright.    He  turned  a  dazed  and  wondering  look  on  the 

man  whose  friendly  grasp  supported  him, then,  with 

an  exclamation,  made  a  trembling  attempt  to  raise  his  hat. 

"  //  Re! "  he  murmured  feebly—"  //  Re! " 

King  Humbert — for  it  was  he — held  him  still  more 
closely. 

"  Courage,  amico!"  he  said  kindly "  Courage! — 

yes yes ! — I  know — I  have  heard  the  news !    All  Italy 

will  give  you  vengeance  for  your  child !    We  will  spare  no 

pains  to  discover  her  murderer.     But  now you  are  ill 

— you  are  weary do  not  try  to  speak come  with 

me !    Let  me  take  you  home — come !  " 

A  great  sob  broke  from  the  old  man's  breast  as  he 
yielded  to  his  Sovereign's  imperative  yet  gentle  guidance, 
and  before  he  could  realize  the  situation,  he  was  in  the 
King's  own  carriage,  with  the  King  beside  him,  being 
rapidly  driven  back  to  his  own  house.  Arrived  at  the 
Palazzo  Sovrani,  a  strange  sight  greeted  them.  The 
great  porte-cochere  was  wide  open,  and,  pressing  through 
it,  and  surrounding  the  stately  building  at  every  point 


The  Master-Christian.  459 

was  a  vast  crowd, — densely  packed  and  almost  absolutely 
silent.  Quite  up  to  the  inner  portico  these  waiting  thou- 
sands pressed, — though,  as  they  recognised  the  Royal 
liveries,  they  did  their  best  to  make  immediate  way,  and 
a  low  murmur  arose  "  Ez'viva  il  Re!"  But  there  was  no 
loud  shouting,  and  the  continued  hush  was  more  dis- 
tinctly recognisable  than  the  murmur.  Prince  Sovrani 
gazed  bewilderedly  at  the  great  throng  as  the  carriage 
moved  slowly  through,  and  putting  his  hand  to  his  head 
murmured — 

"  What — what  is  this !  I  do  not  understand why 

are  these  people  here?" 

The  King  pressed  his  hand. 

"  All  the  world  honours  and  loves  your  daughter,  my 
friend !  "  he  said,  "  And  Rome,  the  Mother  of  Nations, 
mourns  the  loss  of  her  youngest  child  of  genius." 

"  No — no,  not  loss ! she  is  not  dead — "  began  So- 
vrani stammeringly, — "  I  should  have  told  your  Majesty 

— she  is  grievously  wounded but  not  dead  .  .  .  " 

At  that  moment  the  carriage  stopped.  The  door  of  the 
Sovrani  palace  was  open,  and  in  the  centre  of  a  group 
of  people  that  had  gathered  within,  among  whom  were 
Aubrey  Leigh,  Sylvie  Hermenstein,  and  the  Princesse 
D'Agramont,  stood  Cardinal  Bonpre  and  Manuel.  Man- 
uel was  a  little  in  advance  of  the  rest,  and  as  the  King 
and  Prince  Sovrani  alighted,  he  came  fully  forward,  his 
eyes  shining,  and  a  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"  She  will  recover !  "  he  said,  "  She  is  sleeping  peace- 
fully—and  all  is  well !  " 

His  voice  rang  clear  and  sweet,  and  was  heard  by 
everyone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd.  The  good  news 
ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  till  all  the  people  caught  it  up 
and  responded  with  one  brief,  subdued,  but  hearty  cheer. 
Then,  without  bidding,  they  began  to  disperse,  and  the 
King,  baring  his  head  in  the  presence  of  Cardinal  Bon- 
pre, gave  up  his  self-imposed  charge  of  old  Sovrani, 
who,  faint  and  feeble,  grasped  Aubrey  Leigh's  quickly 
proffered  arm,  and  leaned  heavily  upon  it. 

"  He  needs  care,"  said  Humbert  gently, — "  The  shock 
has  moved  him  greatly !  " 

"  Your  Majesty  is  ever  considerate  of  the  sorrows  of 
others."  said  the  venerable  Felix  with  emotion,  "  And  God 
will  bless  you  as  He  blesses  all  good  men !  " 


460  The  Master-Christian. 

The  King  bowed  reverently  to  the  benediction.  Then 
he  looked  up  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  It  is  not  wise  of  your  Eminence  to  say  so, — in 
Rome !  "  he  observed, — "  But  I  thank  you,  and  am 
grateful !  " 

His  keen  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on  Manuel, — and 
the  fair  aspect  of  the  boy  seemed  to  move  him  to  a  sense 
of  wonder — but  he  did  not  speak.  With  a  light  salute 
to  all  present  he  re-entered  his  carriage  and  was  driven 
away — and  Aubrey  Leigh  led  Prince  Sovrani  into  his  own 
library  where,  when  he  was  seated,  they  all  waited  upon 
him  eagerly,  the  fair  Sylvie  chafing  his  cold  hands,  and 
the  Princesse  D'Agramont  practically  making  him  drink 
a  glass  of  good  wine.  Gradually,  warmth  and  colour  and 
animation  came  back  to  his  pale  features, — his  fears  were 
soothed, — his  heart  relieved,  and  a  smile  crossed  his  lips 
as  he  met  Sylvie's  earnest,  anxious  eyes. 

"  What  a  pretty  rosebud  it  is !  "  he  said  softly, — "  Full 
of  sunshine and  love !  " 

With  returning  strength  he  gathered  up  the  forces  of 
his  native  pride  and  independence  and  rose  from  his 
chair. 

"  I  am  well — quite  well  again  now !  "  he  said,  "  Where 
is  the  boy,  Manuel  ?  " 

"  Gone  back  to  Angela,"  replied  the  Cardinal,  "  He  said 
he  would  watch  her  until  she  wakes." 

"  An  angel  watching  an  angel !  "  then  said  the  Prince 
musingly,  "  That  is  as  it  should  be !  "  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment, "  The  King  was  very  kind.  And  you,  Princesse — 
and  you,  bella  Contessina ! "  and  he  courteously  bent  over 
Sylvie's  little  hand  and  kissed  it, — "  You  are  all  much  too 

good  to  an  old  man  like  me!  I  am  strong  again 1 

shall  be  ready  to  speak when  Angela  bids.  But  I 

must  wait.  I  must  wait !  "  He  ruffled  his  white  hair 
with  one  hand  and  looked  at  them  all  very  strangely. 
"  That  was  a  great  crowd  outside — all  waiting  to  hear 

news  of  my  girl !  If if  they  knew  who  it  was  that 

stabbed  her " 

"  Do  you  know  ?  "  cried  Aubrey  quickly. 

"Per  Dio!"  And  Sovrani  smiled,  "I  thought  Eng- 
lishmen were  phlegmatic,  and  here  is  one  ablaze,  and 
ready  to  burst  like  a  bomb !  Ivlo ! — I  did  not  say  I  knew  ! 
— but  1  say,  if  the  crowd  had  known,  they  vvould  have 


The  Master-Christian.  461 

lynched  him !  Yes,  they  would  have  torn  him  to  pieces ! 
.  .  .  and  he  would  have  deserved  it !  He  will  deserve  it ! 
— If  he  is  ever  found !  Come — we  will  all  sup  here  to- 
gether this  evening — sorrow  strengthens  the  bonds  of 
friendship  .  .  .  and  I  will  tell  you  ..." 

He  paused,  and  again  the  strange  far-off  look  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"  I  will  tell  you — "  he  went  on  slowly — "  how  I  found 
my  Angela  lying  dead,  as  I  thought — dead  at  the  feet  of 
Christ !  " 


XXXI. 

MEANWHILE  Florian  Varillo  had  not  gone  to  Naples. 
He  had  been  turned  back  by  a  spectre  evoked  from  his  own 
conscience — coward  fear.  He  was  on  his  way  to  the 
station  when  he  suddenly  discovered  that  he  had  lost  the 
sheath  of  his  dagger.  A  cold  perspiration  broke  out  on 
his  forehead  as  this  fact  flashed  upon  him.  What  had  he 
done  with  it?  Surely  he  had  drawn  the  weapon  out  and 
left  the  sheath  in  his  breast  pocket  as  usual — but  no! — 
search  as  he  would,  he  could  not  find  it.  It  must  have 
dropped  on  the  floor  of  Angela's  studio !  If  that  were  so, 
he  would  be  traced! — most  surely  traced — as  the  sheath 
was  of  curious  and  uncommon  workmanship,  and  many 
of  his  friends  had  seen  it.  He  had  told  everybody  he  was 
going  to  Naples,  and  of  course  he  would  be  followed 
there.  Then,  he  would  not  go !  But  he  went  to  the  sta- 
tion as  if  bent  on  the  journey,  and  took  a  ticket  for  Na- 
ples. Then,  setting  down  his  portmanteau  on  a  bench,  he 
surreptitiously  tore  off  the  label  on  which  his  name  was 
written,  and  tearing  it  up  in  small  bits  scattered  the  frag- 
ments on  the  line.  After  this,  he  walked  away  leisurely, 
leaving  the  portmanteau  behind  him  for  there  was  noth- 
ing in  it  by  which  he  could  be  traced,  and  sauntered 
slowly  out  of  the  station  into  the  streets  of  Rome  once 
more.  Hailing  the  first  fiacre  he  saw,  he  told  the  driver 
to  take  him  to  Frascati.  The  man  was  either  lazy  or 
sulky. 

"  Why  not  take  the  train,  Signor?  " 

"  Because  I  wish  to  drive !  "  replied  Varillo.  "  What 
is  your  fare  ?  " 

"  Twenty-five  francs  for  half  the  way !  "  said  the  man, 
showing  his  white  teeth  in  a  mischievous  grin. 

"  Good !  " 

The  driver  was  surprised,  as  he  had  not  thought  his 
terms  would  be  accepted.  But  he  made  no  further  demur, 
and  Varillo  jumped  into  the  vehicle,  his  teeth  chattering 
with  an  inward  terror  he  could  not  control. 

462 


The  Master-Christian.  463 

"  Drive  quickly !  "  he  said. 

The  man  shouted  an  affirmative,  and  they  clattered 
away  through  the  streets,  Varillo  shrinking  back  in  the 
carriage  overcome  by  panic.  What  a  fool  he  had  been! 
— what  a  fool !  He  ought  to  have  told  Pon-Pon.  If  the 
dagger-sheath  were  found  and  taken  to  his  residence,  it 
would  be  recognised  instantly !  And  all  Rome  would  rise 
against  Angela  Sovrani's  murderer.  Murderer!  Yes, — 
that  was  what  he  had  chosen  to  make  of  himself ! 

"  It  was  all  an  impulse,"  he  muttered, — "  Just  a  hot 
impulse,  nothing  more!  Just  a  sudden  hatred  of  her 
which  made  me  stab  her!  It  was  enough  to  make  any 
man  angry  to  see  such  a  picture  as  that  painted  by  a 
woman !  Her  fame  would  have  ruined  mine !  But  I 

never  meant  to  kill  her no — no,  I  never  meant  to 

kill  her !  " 

Shuddering  and  whimpering,  he  huddled  himself  in  a 
corner  of  the  carriage,  and  did  not  dare  to  look  out  of 
the  window  to  see  which  way  he  was  being  driven.  He 
only  rallied  a  little  when  the  wheels  moved  more  quietly 
and  smoothly,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  on  the  open  road, 
and  out  of  Rome.  Suddenly,  after  jolting  along  a  con- 
siderable time,  the  vehicle  stopped,  and  the  driver  shouted 
to  him.  Varillo  dashed  down  the  window  and  put  his 
head  out,  almost  beside  himself  with  rage. 

"  What  are  you  stopping  for !  What  are  you  stopping 
for !  "  he  yelled.  "  Go  on — go  on — we  are  not  half  way 
to  Frascati  yet !  Go  on,  I  tell  you !  " 

"  Ma-che !  Eccellenza,  I  only  stopped  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion !  " 

"  What  question— what  ?  Is  this  a  time  for  asking 
questions  ?  "  cried  Varillo, — "  The  night  is  falling, — I 
want  to  get  on !  " 

"  But  we  are  going  on  as  fast  as  we  can !  "  expostu- 
lated the  driver, — "  It  is  only  this — there  is  an  albergo 
on  the  way — where  we  can  get  food  and  wine.  Would 
the  Eccellenza  like  to  stop  there?  It  is  as  far  as  I  can 
go,  for  I  am  wanted  to-night  in  Rome." 

"  Very  well — stop  where  you  like — only  get  on  now!  " 
said  Varillo,  pulling  his  head  in  with  a  jerk.  And  sinking 
back  in  his  seat  again  he  wiped  his  hot  face  and  cursed 
his  miserable  destiny.  It  would  have  been  all  right  if  he 
had  only  remembered  that  sheath !  No  one  would  have 


464  The  Master-Christian. 

got  on  such  a  track  of  suspicion  as  that  he,  the  lover  and 
affianced  husband  of  Angela,  was  her  brutal  assassin ! 

"  I  wrote  a  loving  letter  and  sent  her  flowers,"  he  argued 
with  himself,  "  when  I  knew  she  would  be  dead !  But 
her  father  would  have  got  them,  and  he  would  have  wired 
to  me  in  Naples,  and  I  should  have  come  back  overcome 
with  sorrow, — and  then  I  should  have  told  them  all  how 
the  picture  was  a  secret  between  my  Angela  and  myself, 
— how  /  had  painted  the  greater  part  of  it,  and  how  she 
in  her  sweetness  had  wished  me  to  surprise  the  world, 

the  plan  was  perfect,  but  it  is  all  spoiled ! — spoiled 

utterly  through  that  stupid  blunder  of  the  sheath !  " 

Such  a  trifle!  It  seemed  to  him  incredible — unjust — 
that  so  slight  a  thing  could  intervene  between  him  and 
the  complete  success  of  his  meditated  treachery.  For  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  he  had  been  a  great  reader  and 
student  of  books,  he  now,  in  this  particular  hour  of  his 
own  emergency,  completely  forgot  what  all  the  most 
astute  and  learned  writers  have  always  expounded  to  an 
inattentive  world — namely,  the  fact  that  crime  holds 
within  itself  the  seed  of  punishment.  Sometimes  that 
seed  ripens  quickly, — sometimes  it  takes  years  to  grow, — 
but  it  is  always  there.  And  it  generally  takes  root  in  a 
mere,  slight  circumstance,  so  very  commonplace  and 
casual  as  to  entirely  escape  the  notice  of  the  criminal,  till 
the  network  of  destiny  is  woven  so  closely  about  him  that 
he  can  no  longer  avoid  it, — and  then  he  is  shown  from 
what  a  trifling  cause  the  whole  result  has  sprung.  Va- 
rillo's  present  state  of  mind  was  one  of  absolute  torture, 
for  he  felt  that  whoever  found  the  sheath  of  his  dagger 
would  at  once  recognise  it  and  declare  the  owner.  If 
Angela  had  only  been  wounded, — if  she  had  found  it- 
she  would  never  have  given  up  the  name  of  its  possessor, 
— the  miserable  man  knew  her  straight,  pure  soul  inti- 
mately enough  for  that ! 

"  If  she  heard,  she  would  shield  me  and  defend  me  at 
the  cost  of  her  own  life !  "  he  said — "  She  was  always  like 
that !  She  would  never  listen  to  anything  that  was  said 
against  me, — and  if  she  lived,  she  would  love  me  still, 
and  never  say  that  I  had  tried  to  kill  her !  "  and  he  actually 
smiled  at  the  thought.  "  How  strangely  some  women  are 
constituted ! — especially  women  like  Angela,  who  set  up 
an  exalted  standard  of  life,  and  accommodate  their  daily 


The  Master-Christian.  465 

conduct  (o  it!  They  are  sublime  fools! — and  so  useful  to 
men !  We  can  do  anything  we  like  with  them.  We  can 
ruin  them — and  they  bear  their  shame  in  silence.  We 
can  laugh  away  their  reputations  over  a  game  at  billiards, 
and  they  are  too  pure  and  proud  to  even  attempt  to  defend 
themselves.  We  can  vilify  whatever  work  they  do,  and 

they  endure  the  slander, — we  can  murder  them " 

he  paused,  "  Yes,  we  can  murder  them,  and  they  die, 
without  so  much  as  leaving  a  curse  behind  them!  Ex- 
traordinary ! — angelic — superb ! — and  a  wise  Fate  has  or- 
dained that  we  men  shall  never  sacrifice  ourselves  for 
such  women,  or  go  mad  for  the  love  of  them !  We  love 
the  virago  better  than  the  saint ;  we  are  afraid  of  the  wo- 
man who  nags  at  us  and  gives  us  trouble — who  screams 
vengeance  upon  us  if  we  neglect  her  in  a  trifle — who 
clamours  for  our  money,  and  insists  on  our  gifts — and 
who  keeps  our  lives  in  a  perpetual  fever  of  excitement 
and  terror.  But  the  innocent  woman  we  hate — very  nat- 
urally !  Her  looks  are  a  reproach  to  us,  and  we  like  to 
kill  her  when  we  can — and  we  often  succeed  morally, — 
but  that  is  not  called  murder.  The  other  way  of  killing 

is  judged  as  a  crime and — then the  punishment 

is  death !  " 

As  this  word  passed  his  lips  in  a  whisper,  he  trembled 
violently.  Death !  It  had  a  chill  sound — yet  he  had  not 
thought  so  when  he  associated  it  with  Angela.  For  of 
course  Angela  was  dead.  Was  she  not  ?  Surely  she  must 
be — he  had  driven  the  dagger  straight  home ! 

"  She  could  not  possibly  live,"  he  muttered — "  Not  after 
such  a  well  directed  blow.  And  that  amazing  picture! 
If  I  could  but  claim  it  as  my  work,  I  should  be  the  great- 
est artist  in  the  world !  It  would  be  quite  easy  to  make 
out  a  proof — only  that  cursed  dagger-sheath  is  in  the 
way!  " 

He  was  startled  out  of  his  reverie  by  another  stoppage 
of  the  carriage,  and  this  time  the  driver  jumped  down 
from  his  box  and  came  to  the  door. 

"  This  is  as  far  as  I  can  take  you,  Signor"  he  said, 
looking  curiously  at  his  passenger, — "  It  is  quite  half 
way  to  Frascati.  There  is  the  inn  I  told  you  of — where 
those  lights  are,"  and  he  pointed  towards  the  left, — "  The 
carriage  road  does  not  go  up  to  it.  It  is  a  great  place 
for  artists !  " 


466 


The  Master-Christian. 


"  I  am  not  an  artist !  "  said  Varillo  brusquely. 

"  No  ?  But  artists  are  merry  company,  Eccellenza ! — " 
suggested  the  driver,  wishing  to  make  up  for  his  previous 
sulkiness  by  an  excess  of  amiability — "  And  for  a  night, 
the  alb  ergo  is  a  pleasant  resting  place  on  the  way  to 
Frascati,  for  even  the  brigands  who  sup  there  are  good- 
natured  !  " 

"Ah!  There  are  brigands,  are  there?"  said  Varillo, 
getting  out  of  the  fiacre  and  beginning  to  recover  some- 
thing of  his  usual  composure, — "  And  I  daresay  you  are 
one  of  them  if  the  truth  were  known !  Here  is  your 
money."  And  he  gave  the  man  two  gold  pieces,  one  of 
twenty  francs,  the  other  of  ten. 

"  Eccellenza,  I  have  no  change " 

"  I  want  none !  "  said  Varillo  airily, — "  You  asked 
twenty-five  francs — there  are  thirty.  And  now — as  you 
say  you  have  business  in  Rome,  be  off  with  you !  " 

The  man  needed  no  second  bidding ;  delighted  with  his 
thirty  francs,  he  called  a  gay  "  Buona  notte,  Signor! " 
and  turning  his  horse's  head  jogged  down  the  road  at  a 
tolerably  smart  pace.  The  horse  knew  as  well  as  the 
driver,  that  the  way  now  lay  homeward,  and  lost  no  time. 
Varillo,  left  to  himself,  paused  a  moment  and  looked  about 
him.  The  Campagna !  How  he  hated  it !  Should  he  pass 
the  night  at  that  albergo,  or  walk  on?  He  hesitated  a 
little — then  made  for  the  inn  direct.  It  was  a  bright, 
cosy  little  place  enough,  and  the  padrona,  a  cheery,  dark- 
eyed  woman  seated  behind  the  counter,  bade  him  smiling 
welcome. 

Lodging — oh  yes !  she  said,  there  was  a  charming  room 
at  the  Signer's  disposal,  with  a  view  from  the  windows 
which  in  the  early  morning  was  superb!  The  Signor 
was  an  artist? 

"  No !  "  said  Varillo,  almost  fiercely "  I  am  a  tour- 
ist  travelling  for  pleasure !  " 

Ah !  Then  the  view  would  enchant  the  Signor,  because 
it  would  be  quite  new  to  him !  The  room  should  be  pre- 
pared at  once!  Would  the  Signor  take  supper? 

Yes, — the  Signor  would  take  supper.  And  the  Signor 
went  and  sat  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  common-room, 
with  a  newspaper  of  a  week  old,  pretending  to  read  its 
contents.  And  supper  was  soon  served  to  him, — a  tasty 
meal  enough,  flavoured  with  excellent  wine, — and  while 


The  Master-Christian.  467 

he  was  drinking  his  third  glass  of  it,  a  man  entered,  tall 
and  broad-shouldered,  wrapped  in  a  heavy  cloak,  which 
he  only  partially  loosened  as  he  leaned  against  the  counter 
and  asked  for  a  cup  of  coffee.  But  as  he  caught  sight 
of  the  dark  face,  Varillo  shrank  back  into  his  corner,  and 
put  up  his  newspaper  to  shield  himself  from  view, — for  he 
saw  that  the  new-comer  was  no  other  than  Monsignor 
Gherardi.  His  appearance  seemed  to  create  a  certain 
amount  of  excitement  and  vague  alarm  in  the  little  inn; 
the  padrona  evidently  knew  him  well,  and  hastened  to 
serve  him  herself  with  the  coffee  he  asked  for. 

"  Will  you  not  sit  down,  Eccellentissimaf "  she  mur- 
mured deferentially. 

"  No,  I  am  in  haste !  "  replied  Gherardi,  glancing  care- 
lessly about  him — "  My  carriage  waits  outside.  There  is 
strange  news  in  Rome  to-night !  The  famous  artist,  An- 
gela Sovrani,  has  been  found  in  her  studio,  murdered !  " 

The  padrona  uttered  a  little  cry. 

"  Murdered !  " 

"  So  it  seems !  Here  are  the  papers  from  which  they 
cry  the  news.  I  will  leave  them  with  you.  It  is  per- 
haps the  judgment  of  Heaven  on  the  Sovrani's  uncle, 
Cardinal  Bortpre !  " 

The  mistress  of  the  inn  crossed  herself  devoutly. 

"  Guiosto  ciclo!    Would  Heaven  punish  a  Cardinal?" 

"Certainly!     If  a  Cardinal  is  a  heretic!" 

The  stout  padrona  clasped  her  hands  and  shuddered. 

"  Not  possible !  " 

"  Quite  possible !  "  And  Gherardi  drained  his  coffee- 
cup.  "  And  when  so  great  a  personage  of  the  Church  is 
a  renegade,  he  incurs  two  punishments — the  punishment 
of  God  and  the  punishment  of  the  Church!  The  one 
comes  first — the  other  comes — afterwards  !  Buona 
notte!" 

And  throwing  down  the  money  for  his  refreshment, 
Gherardi  cast  another  glance  around  him,  muffled  himself 
up  in  his  coat  and  went  out  into  the  night.  Florian  Va- 
rillo breathed  again.  But  he  was  not  left  in  peace  for 
long.  The  padrona  summoned  her  husband  from  the 
kitchen  where  he  performed  the  offices  of  cook,  to  read 
the  halfpenny  sheets  of  news  her  visitor  had  left  with  her. 

"  Look  you !  "  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  The  wicked 
Monsignor  who  has  thee,  my  poor  Paolo,  in  his  clutches 


468  The  Master-Christian. 

for  debt,  has  just  passed  by  and  left  evil  tidings! — that 
beautiful  girl  who  painted  the  famous  pictures  in  Rome, 
has  been  murdered!  Do  you  not  remember  seeing  her 
once  with  her  father  at  Frascati  ?  " 

Paolo,  a  round-faced,  timid-looking  little  Piedmontese, 
nodded  emphatically. 

'  That  do  I !  "  he  answered — "  Fair  as  an  angel — kind- 
hearted  too, — and  they  told  me  she  was  a  wonder  of  the 
world.  Che,  chel  Murdered!  And  who  could  have 
murdered  her?  Someone  jealous  of  her  fame!  Poor 
thing — she  is  engaged  to  be  married  too,  to  another  artist 
named  Florian  Varillo.  Gran  Dio!  He  will  die  of  this 
misery !  "  And  they  bent  their  heads  over  the  paper  to- 
gether and  read  the  brief  announcement  headed  "  Assas- 
sinamento  di  Angela  Sovrani!  " 

A  sudden  crash  startled  them.  Varillo  had  sprung  up 
from  his  table  in  haste  and  overset  his  glass.  It  fell, 
shivering  to  atoms  on  the  floor. 

"  Pardon !  "  he  exclaimed,  laughing  forcedly, — "  A 
thousand  apologies!  My  hand  slipped — it  was  an  acci- 
dent  " 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself,  Signor,"  said  the  landlord, 
Paolo,  cautiously  going  down  on  his  fat  knees  to  pick  up 
the  fragments — "  It  was  an  accident  as  you  say.  And 
truly  one's  nerves  get  shaken  nowadays  by  all  the  strange 
things  one  is  always  hearing !  Myself,  I  tremble  to  think 

of  the  murder  of  the  Sovrani the  poor  girl  was  so 

innocent  of  evil — and  see  you! — we  might  all  be  mur- 
dered in  our  beds  with  such  villains  about  .  .  .  " 

He  broke  off,  surprised  at  the  angry  oath  Varillo  ut- 
tered. 

"Per  Dio!  Can  you  not  talk  of  something  else?  "  he 
said  hoarsely, — "  There  is  a  murder  nearly  every  day  in 
Rome ! " 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply  he  hastily  strode  out  of 
the  inn,  banging  the  door  behind  him.  He  had  engaged 

his  room  there  for  the  night — true ! — but after  all  this 

foolish  gabble  he  resolved  he  would  not  go  back.  They 
would  still  talk  of  murder,  if  he  did !  Murder  was  in  the 
air !  Murder  seemed  written  in  letters  of  fire  against  the 
clear  sky  now  luminous  with  the  moon  and  stars!  He 
was  in  a  fever  and  a  fury — he  walked  on  and  on,  little 
heeding  where  he  went.  What  the  devil  had  brought 


The  Master-Christian.  469 

Gherardi  to  that  particular  inn  at  that  particular  time  of 
night?  He  could  not  imagine.  For  though  he  knew 
most  scandals  in  Rome,  the  scandal  of  the  priest's  "  villa 
d' amour"  at  Frascati,  was  a  secret  too  closely  guarded 
for  anyone  save  the  sharpest  of  professional  detectives  to 
discover,  and  he  was  totally  ignorant  of  it.  He  wondered 
restlessly  whether  the  crafty  Vatican  spy  had  seen  him 
while  pretending  not  to  see?  If  that  were  so,  then  he 
was  lost !  He  could  not  satisfy  himself  as  to  whether  he 
had  really  escaped  observation,  and  tormented  by  this  re- 
flection he  walked  on  and  on,  the  burning  impetus  of  his 
thoughts  hastening  his  footsteps.  A  cold  wind  began  to 
rise, — a  chill,  damp  breath  of  the  Campagna,  bringing 
malaria  with  it.  He  felt  heated  and  giddy,  and  there  was 
a  curious  sense  of  fulness  in  his  veins  which  oppressed 
him  and  made  him  uncertain  of  his  movements.  Pres- 
ently he  stopped,  and  stood  gazing  vaguely  from  left  to 
right.  He  was  surely  not  on  the  road  to  Frascati  ?  There 
was  a  tall  shadowy  building  not  far  from  him,  surrounded 
with  eucalyptus  trees — he  tried  to  locate  it,  but  somehow 
though,  as  a  native  of  Rome  and  an  artist,  he  was  famil- 
iar with  most  of  the  Campagna,  he  did  not  recognise 
this  part  of  it.  How  bright  the  stars  were !  Living 
points  of  fire  flashing  in  dense  purple ! — one  could  never 
paint  them !  The  golden  round  of  the  moon  spreading 
wide  reflections  on  the  road,  seemed  to  his  excited  mind 
like  a  magic  ring  environing  him,  drawing  him  in,  point- 
ing him  out  as  the  one  criminal  for  whom  all  the  world 
was  seeking.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  time, — his  watch 
had  stopped.  He  began  to  count  up  hours.  He  re- 
membered that  when  he  had  gone  to  see  Angela,  it  was 
about  four  o'clock.  He  had  known  perfectly  well  that 
she  was  alone,  for  he  had  seen  the  Cardinal  drive  past 
him  in  the  streets  on  the  way  to  the  Vatican,  and  he  had 
heard  at  his  "  Cercolo  "  or  club,  that  Prince  Sovrani  had 
gone  out  of  Rome  for  a  few  hours.  And,  thus  informed, 
he  had  timed  his  visit  to  Angela  well.  Then,  had  he 
meant  to  kill  her?  No.  He  was  quite  certain  that  he 
never  had  had  any  such  intention.  Then  what  had  been 
his  purpose?  First,  to  see  her  picture,  and  then  to  con- 
demn it.  Not  harshly,  but  gently — with  the  chill  tolera- 
tion and  faint  commiseration  of  the  critic  who  pretends 
to  judge  everything.  He  knew — none  better — the  glow- 


47°  The  Master-Christian. 

ing  ardour  and  enthusiasm  of  the  genius  which  was  as 
much  a  part  of  Angela  as  colour  is  part  of  a  rose, — his 
intention  had  been  to  freeze  all  that  warmth  with  a  few 
apparently  kind  words.  For  he  had  never  thought  it  pos- 
sible that  she, — a  mere  woman, — could  evolve  from  her 
own  brain  and  hand,  such  a  poetic,  spiritual  and  magnifi- 
cent conception  as  "  The  Coming  of  Christ."  And  when 
he  saw  what  she  had  done,  he  bitterly  envied  her  her 
power, — he  realized  the  weakness  of  his  own  efforts  as 
compared  with  her  victorious  achievement,  and  he  hated 
her  accordingly,  as  all  men  hate  the  woman  who  is  intel- 
lectually superior  to  themselves.  After  all,  there  was  no 
way  out  of  it,  but  the  way  he  had  chosen, — to  kill  her  and 
make  an  end !  To  kill  her  and  make  an  end !  He  mut- 
tered these  words  over  and  over  to  himself,  as  he  stood 
irresolutely  watching  the  broad  patterns  of  the  moon- 
light, and  thinking  confusedly  about  the  time.  Yes, — it 
was  four  o'clock  when  he  went  to  Angela's  studio, — it 
must  have  been  five,  or  past  that  hour  when  he  left  it, — 
when  he  slunk  down  the  side-street  which  led  to  the  river, 
and  threw  the  key  and  his  dagger  together  into  the  muddy 
tide.  After  that  he  had  gone  home, — and  had  superin- 
tended his  valet,  while  that  individual  packed  his  port- 
manteau for  Naples and  then — and  then?  Yes, — 

then  he  had  written  to  Angela, — one  of  the  pretty  gracious 
little  notes  she  was  accustomed  to  receive  from  him, — 

how  strange  it  was  to  write  to  a  dead  girl ! and  he  had 

gone  out  to  the  nearest  florist's  shop,  and  chosen  a  basket 

of  lilies  to  send  to  her, lilies  were  for  dead  maidens 

always, and  he  had  sent  the  flowers  and  his  love  letter 

together.  Then  surely  it  must  have  been  about  half-past 
six?  He  tried  to  fix  the  hour,  but  could  not,  and  again 
his  thoughts  went  rambling  on.  After  sending  the  lilies, 
he  had  returned  to  his  own  house,  and  Pon-Pon  had  pre- 
pared a  "  petit  cafe  "  for  him,  and  he  had  partaken  of  it, 
and  had  smoked  a  couple  of  cigarettes  with  her,  and  then 
had  said  a  leisurely  good-bye,  and  had  started  for  the 
railway-station  en  route  for  Naples.  What  train  had  he 
intended  to  go  by?  The  eight  o'clock  express.  He  re- 
membered that.  But  on  the  way,  he  had  discovered  that 
loss  of  the  dagger-sheath, — an  unforeseen  fatality  that 
had  turned  him  back,  and  brought  him  to  where  he  now 
stood  meditating.  How  long  did  the  driver  of  that  fiacre 


The  Master-Christian.  471 

he  hired,  take  to  bring  him  to  the  wayside  inn  on  the  road 
.o  Frascati?  This  he  could  not  determine, — but  to  his 
uncertain  memory  it  seemed  to  have  been  an  unusually 

tedious  and  tiresome  journey.    And  now here  he  was 

with  no  habitation  in  sight  save  the  solitary  building 

whose  walls  loomed  darkly  through  the  eucalyptus  trees. 
He  went  towards  it  after  a  while,  walking  slowly  and  al- 
most mechanically; — he  was  extremely  tired,  and  an  op- 
pressive sense  of  heat  and  weariness  combined  made  him 
anxious  to  obtain  a  night's  lodging  somewhere, — no  mat- 
ter in  what  sort  of  place.  Anything  would  be  better  than 
sleeping  out  on  the  Campagna,  an  easy  prey  to  the  worst 
form  of  fever.  As  he  approached  more  nearly  to  the 
house  among  the  trees,  he  saw  that  it  was  surrounded  by 
a  very  high,  closely  intertwisted  iron  railing, — and  when 
he  came  within  a  few  paces  of  what  appeared  to  be  the 
entrance,  he  was  startled  by  the  sudden  heavy  clang  of 
a  bell,  which,  striking  through  the  still  air,  created  such 
harsh  clamour  that  he  instinctively  shivered  at  the 
sound.  He  paused, — and  again  the  dismal  boom  crashed 

on  his  ears, then  as  its  echo  died  away  another  deep 

monotone,  steadily  persistent,  began  to  stir  the  silence 
with  words, — words,  which  to  Florian  Varillo  in  his  nerv- 
ous excitation  of  mind  sounded  hellish  and  horrible. 

"  Libera  me  Domine,  de  morte  aeterna!  " 

"  In  die  ilia  tremenda  !  " 
"  Quando  coeli  movendi  sunt  et  terra  !  " 

"  Dum  veneris  judicare  saeculum  per  ignem  !  " 

He  listened,  and  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  his  fore- 
head. With  that  strange  weakness  and  effeminacy  wrhich 
often  distinguishes  the  artistic,  and  particularly  the  Ital- 
ian artistic  temperament,  he  was  excessively  supersti- 
tious, and  this  unexpected  chanting  of  a  psalm  of  death 
seemed  to  him  at  the  moment,  of  supernatural  and  pre- 
determined origin,  devised  on  purpose  to  intensify  the 
growing  terrors  of  his  coward  conscience. 

"  Tremens  factus  sum  ego  !  " 

**  Et  timeo,  dum  discussio  venerit,  atque  venerit  ira  !  " 

Once  more  the  great  bell  tolled  heavily,  and  its  dis- 
cordant tone  seemed  to  tear  his  brain.  He  uttered  an  in- 
voluntary cry, — every  weak  impulse  in  his  soul  was 


472  The  Master-Christian. 

aroused, — and  in  the  excess  of  a  miserable  self-pity  he 
longed  to  excuse  himself  for  his  crime  of  treachery  and 
cruelty  to  the  innocent  woman  who  loved  him, — to  throw 
the  blame  on  someone  else, — if  he  could  only  find  that 
someone  else!  Anything  rather  than  own  himself  to  be 
the  mean  wretch  and  traitor  that  he  was.  For  he  was  a 
cultured  and  clever  man, — a  scholar, — an  artist, — a  poet; 
— these  things  were  not  consistent  with  murder !  A  man 
who  painted  beautiful  pictures, — a  man  who  wrote  ex- 
quisite verses, — he  could  never  be  suspected  of  stabbing 
a  helpless  trusting  woman  in  the  back  out  of  sheer  jeal- 
ousy, like  a  common  hired  assassin !  No  no !  He  could 
never  be  suspected !  Why  had  he  not  thought  of  his  in- 
tellectual gifts, — his  position  in  the  world  of  art,  before? 
No  one  in  their  senses  could  possibly  accuse  him  in  the 
way  he  had  imagined ! — and  even  if  the  dagger-sheath 
were  found,  some  explanation  might  be  given, — someone 
else  might  be  found  guilty  .  .  . 

"  Quando  coeli  movendi  sunt  et  terra; 

Dum  veneris  judicare  saeculum  per  ignem  !  " 

Again  that  horrible  bell !  Moved  by  a  sudden  desper- 
ate determination  to  find  out  what  this  mysterious  chant- 
ing was,  and  where  it  came  from,  he  braced  himself  up 
and  walked  resolutely  and  quickly  on  to  a  great  gateway, 
cross-barred  and  surmounted  with  tall  spikes, — and  there 
seized  by  fresh  panic,  he  clung  to  the  grating  for  support 
and  stared  through  it  affrightedly,  his  teeth  chattering 
and  his  whole  frame  shaking  as  with  an  ague  fit.  What 
were  those  dark  terrible  figures  he  saw?  Were  they 
phantoms  or  men  ?  Gaunt  and  black  and  tall,  they  swayed 
to  and  fro,  now  bending,  now  rising,  in  the  misty  splen- 
dour of  the  moonlight, — they  were  busy  with  the  ground, 
digging  it  and  casting  out  shovels  full  of  earth  in  heaps 
beside  them.  Each  ghostly  figure  stood  by  itself  apart 
from  its  companions, — each  one  worked  at  its  task  alone, 
— and  only  their  voices  mingled  in  harsh  dismal  unison 
as,  with  the  next  stroke  of  the  solemn  bell,  they  chanted 

"  Dies  ilia  dies  irae, 
Calamitatis  et  miserise  !  " 

"  No ! "  shrieked  Varillo  suddenly,  shaking  the  gate- 
way like  an  infuriated  madman "  What  are  you  doing 


The  Master-Christian.  473 

in  there  ?  Who  told  you  to  sing  my  mass  or  prepare  my 
grave  ?  I  am  not  ready,  I  tell  you !  Not  ready !  I  have 
done  nothing  to  deserve  death — nothing! — I  have  not 
been  tried! — you  must  wait — you  must  wait  till  you 

know  all you  must  wait !  .  .  .  " 

His  voice  choked  in  utterance,  and  thrusting  one  hand 
through  the  grating  he  made  frantic  gesticulations  to  the 
spectral  figure  nearest  him.  It  paused  in  its  toil  and 
lifted  its  head, — and  from  the  dark  folds  of  a  drooping 
cowl,  two  melancholy  deep-set  eyes  glittered  out  like  the 
eyes  of  a  famished  beast.  The  other  spectres  paused  also, 
but  only  for  a  moment, — the  bell  boomed  menacingly  over 
their  heads  once  more,  and  again  they  dug  and  delved,  and 
again  they  chanted  in  dreary  monotone — 

"  Dies  magna  et  amara  valde, 
Dum  veneris  judicare  ! 
Libera  nos  Domine,  de  morte  aeterna,  in  die  ilia  tremenda  !" 

Wild  with  terror  Varillo  shook  the  gate  more  furiously 
than  before. 

"  Stop  I  tey  you !  "  he  cried — "  It  is  too  soon !  You 
are  burying  me  before  my  time.  You  have  no  proof 
against  me — none !  I  am  young, — full  of  life  and  strength 

— the  world  loves  me — wants  me  ! and  I — I  will  not 

die ! — no  I  will  not ! — not  yet !  Not  yet — I  am  not  ready ! 
Stop — stop !  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  doing — 
stop !  You  are  driving  me  mad  with  your  horrible  sing- 
ing ! "  And  he  shrieked  aloud.  "  Mad,  I  tell  you ! 
— mad !  " 

For  one  hazy  moment  he  saw  some  of  the  dark  fig- 
ures begin  to  move  towards  him he  clutched  at  them 

— fought  with  them — tore  at  their  garments, — he  would 
have  killed  them  all,  he  thought,  if  the  moonlight  had  not 
come  in  between  him  and  them,  and  shut  him  up  in  a 
cold  silver  circle  of  ice  from  which  he  could  not  escape, 
— yet  he  went  on  struggling  and  talking  and  shrieking, 
contending  sometimes,  as  he  fancied,  with  swords  and 
daggers,  and  trying  to  find  his  way  through  strange 
storms  of  mingled  fire  and  snow — till  all  at  once  some 
strong  invisible  force  swooped  down  upon  him,  lifted  him 
up  and  carried  him  away — and  he  remembered  no  more. 


XXXII. 

AWAY  in  Paris,  a  vast  concourse  of  people  were  assem- 
bled round  an  open  grave  in  Pere-la-Chaise,  wherein  the 
plain  coffin  of  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  had  just  been  lowered. 
The  day  was  misty  and  cold,  and  the  sun  shone  fitfully 
through  the  wreaths  of  thin  vapour  that  hung  over  the 
city,  occasionally  gleaming  on  the  pale  fine  face  of  the 
famous  "  Gys  Grandit  ",  who,  standing  at  the  edge  of  the 
grave  spoke  his  oration  over  the  dead. 

"  To  this,  to  this/'  he  cried,  "  oh  people  of  Paris,  we  all 
must  come !  Our  ambitions,  our  hopes,  our  dreams,  our 
grand  reforms,  our  loves  and  joys  end  here,  so  far  as  this 
world  is  concerned!  He  whom  we  have  just  laid  in  the 
earth  was  skilled  in  many  devious  ways  of  learning, — 
gifted  with  eloquence,  great  in  scholarship,  quick  with 
the  tongue  as  with  the  pen,  he  was  a  man  whom  per- 
chance all  France  would  have  called  famous  had  it  not 
been  for  me !  I  am  the  blot  on  my  father's  name !  I  am 
the  sin  for  which  he  has  made  the  last  expiation !  Peo- 
ple of  Paris,  for  years  he  lived  and  worked  among  you, — 
outwardly  smiling,  witty  of  speech  and  popular  with  you 
all, — but  inwardly  a  misery  to  himself  in  his  own  con- 
science, because  he  knew  his  life  was  not  what  he  pro- 
fessed it  to  be.  He  knew  that  he  did  not  believe  what  he 
asked  you  to  accept  as  true.  He  knew  that  he  had  guilt 
upon  his  soul, — he  knew  that  all  the  sins  which  none  of 
you  could  guess  at,  God  saw.  For  there  is  a  God !  Not 
the  God  of  the  priests,  but  the  God  of  the  Universe  and  of 
man's  natural  and  spiritual  instinct.  He  from  whom 
nothing  escapes, — He  who  ordains  where  every  drop  of 
dew  shall  fall, — He  whose  omnipresent  vision  perceives 
the  flight  of  every  small  bird  in  the  air  and  predetermines 
the  building  of  its  nest,  and  the  manner  of  its  end, — He 
is  the  God  whom  none  can  deceive.  Those  who  dream 
they  can  play  false  with  Him  are  mistaken.  This  dead 
man,  my  father,  living  among  you  for  years,  was  con- 
tented for  years  to  seem  like  you, — yes ! — for  you  all 


The  Master-Christian.  475 

have  something  which  you  think  you  can  cover  up  from 
the  searching  eye  of  Fate ;  and  many  of  you  pretend  to  be 
what  you  are  not, — while  many  more  wear  the  aspect  of 
men  over  the  souls  of  beasts.  My  father  who  rests  here 
to-day  at  our  feet,  was  a  priest  of  the  Roman  Church.  In 
that  capacity  he  should  have  been  clothed  with  sanctity. 
Human,  yet  removed  from  common  frailty.  Yet  reckless 
of  his  order,  heedless  of  his  vows,  he,  priest  as  he  was, 
turned  libertine,  and  betrayed  an  innocent  woman.  He 
destroyed  her  name — killed  her  honour — broke  her  heart ! 
Libertines  of  all  classes  from  kings  to  commoners,  do  this 
kind  of  thing  every  day,  and  deem  it  but  a  small  fault  of 
character.  Nevertheless  it  is  a  crime! — and  for  a  crime 
there  is  always  punishment!  For  everything  that  is 
false, — for  everything  that  is  mean, — for  everything  that 
is  contemptible  and  cowardly,  punishment  comes, — if  not 
soon,  then  late.  In  this  case  vengeance  was  forestalled, 
— for  the  sinner,  repenting  in  time,  took  his  vengeance  on 
himself.  He  confessed  his  sin  before  you  all !  That  was 
brave !  How  many  of  you  here  to-day  would  have  such 
courage !  How  many  of  you  would  throw  off  your  cloaks 
of  virtue  and  admit  your  vices? — or  having  admitted 
them,  try  to  amend  them?  But  this  is  what  my  father 
did.  And  for  this  he  should  be  honoured !  He  told  you  all 
fully  and  frankly  that  his  professions  of  faith  were  false 
and  vain  and  conventional ;  and  that  he  had  seemed  to  you 
what  he  was  not.  Now  the  committal  of  a  sin  is  one 
thing, — but  the  frankly  repentant  confession  of  that  sin 
is  another.  Some  of  you  will  say — Who  am  I  that  I 
should  judge  my  father?  Why  truly  I  am  nothing! — 
and  should  have  been  nothing  but  the  avenger  of  my 
mother's  life  and  broken-hearted  misery.  For  that  I  lived, 
— for  that  I  was  ready  to  die !  What  a  trivial  object  of 
existence  it  must  seem  to  you  Parisians  nowadays! — to 
avenge  a  mother's  name !  Much  better  to  fight  a  duel  for 
some  paltry  dancer !  Yes ! — but  I  am  not  so  constituted. 
From  my  childhood  I  worked  for  two  things — vengeance 
and  ambition ;  I  put  ambition  second,  for  I  would  have 
sacrificed  it  all  to  the  fiercer  passion.  But  when  I  sought 
to  fulfil  my  vengeance,  the  man  on  whom  I  would  have 
taken  it,  himself  changed  it  into  respect,  pity,  admiration, 
affection, — and  I  loved  what  I  had  so  long  hated !  So 
even  I,  bent  on  cruelty,  learned  to  be  kind.  But  not  so 


476  The  Master-Christian. 

the  Church !  The  Church  of  Rome  cannot  forgive  the 
dead  priest  whom  we  have  laid  in  all-forgiving  Mother 
Earth  to-day !  Had  he  lived,  the  sentence  of  excommu- 
nication would  have  been  pronounced  against  him, — now 
that  he  is  dead,  it  is  quit§  possible  it  may  still  be  pro- 
nounced against  his  memory.  But  what  of  that?  We 
who  know,  who  feel,  who  think, — we  are  not  led  by  the 
Church  of  Rome,  but  by  the  Church  of  Christ !  The  two 
things  are  as  different  as  this  grave  differs  from  high 
Heaven !  For  we  believe  that  when  Magdalen  breaks  a 
precious  box  of  perfume  at  the  feet  of  Christ  '  she  hath 
wrought  a  good  work  '.  We  also  believe  that  when  a  man 
stands  '  afar  off  ',  saying  '  Lord,  be  merciful  to  me  a  sin- 
ner! '  he  goes  back  to  his  house  again  justified  more  than 
he  who  says  '  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  I  am  not  as  other  men ! ' 
We  believe  that  Right  is  right,  and  that  nothing  can 
make  it  wrong!  And  simply  speaking,  we  know  it  is 
right  to  tell  the  truth,  and  wrong  to  tell  a  lie.  For  a  lie 
is  opposed  to  the  working  forces  of  Nature,  and  those 
forces  sooner  or  later  will  attack  it  and  overcome  it. 
They  are  beginning  now  in  our  swiftly  advancing  day,  to 
attack  the  Church  of  Rome.  And  why  ?  Because  its  doc- 
trine is  no  longer  that  of  Christ,  but  of  Mammon !  This 
is  what  my  father  felt  and  knew,  when  he  addressed  his 
congregation  for  the  last  time  in  Notre  Dame  de 
Lorette.  He  knew  that  he  was  doomed  by  disease  to  a 
speedy  death, — though  he  little  guessed  how  soon  that 
death  would  be.  But  feeling  the  premonition  of  his 
end,  he  resolved  to  speak  out, — not  to  condone  or  excuse 
himself  for  having  preached  what  he  could  not  believe 
all  those  years, — but  merely  to  tell  you  how  things  were 
with  him,  and  to  trust  his  memory  to  you  to  be  dealt  with 
as  you  choose.  He  has  left  a  book  behind  him, — a  book 
full  of  great  and  noble  thoughts  expressed  with  most  pa- 
thetic humility ;  hence  I  doubt  not  that  when  you  see  the 
better  soul  of  him  unveiled  in  his  expressed  mind,  you  will 
yet  give  him  the  fame  he  merits.  His  Church  judges  him 
a  heretic  and  castaway  for  having  confessed  his  sin  at 
last  to  the  people  whom  he  so  long  deceived, — but  I  for 
this,  judge  him  as  an  honest  man  !  And  I  have  some  little 
right  to  my  opinion,  for  as  Gys  Grandit  I  have  sought 

to  proclaim  the  thoughts  of  many ' 

He  paused  till  the  murmur  of  enthusiasm  at  mention 


The  Master-Christian.  477 

of  the  name  by  which  he  was  known  through  France 
should  have  ceased.  It  rose  on  the  air  in  a  sort  of 
bee-like  humming  monotone,  and  then  died  away, 
while  many  people  stood  on  tip-toe  and  craned  cheir 
necks  eagerly  over  each  other's  shoulders  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  daring  writer  whose  works  threatened  to 
upset  a  greater  power  than  any  throne,  the  Roman 
Church. 

"  I  have  tried,"  he  resumed  quietly,  "  as  I  say,  to  pro- 
claim the  thoughts  of  many !  The  people  of  France,  like 
the  peoples  of  many  other  nations,  are  losing  God  in  a 
cloud  of  priest-craft.  Look  up  to  this  broad  canopy  of 
heaven, — look  up  to  yonder  driving  clouds  heavy  with 
rain,  through  which  the  great  sun  gleams  like  a  golden 
shield, — that  is  the  temple  of  the  real  God !  That  spar- 
kling roof  of  air  through  which  the  planets  roll  in  their 
tremendous  orbits,  bends  over  the  wise  and  the  foolish, 
the  just  and  the  unjust;  the  sun  shines  as  kindly  on  the 
face  of  the  street  outcast  as  on  that  of  the  great  lady 
who  is  often  more  soiled  in  soul  than  her  miserable  sister. 
The  rich  man  can  provide  for  himself  no  finer  quality  of 
light  than  is  vouchsafed  to  the  poor.  The  flowers  in  the 
field  spring  up  as  graciously  under  the  feet  of  the  beggar 
as  the  king.  The  Church  of  the  true  God  is  Equality ! 
— the  altar,  the  sacrament,  the  final  resting-place  of  the 
dead,  Equality !  Your  revolutionary  cry  was  and  is 
still, — Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity! — but  when  you 
shout  those  words,  you  know  not  what  you  are  calling  for. 
Your  demand  is  instinctive, — the  cry  of  a  child  for  its 
parents.  It  is  not  for  temporal  things  that  you  clamour, 
as  the  foolish  imagine, — it  is  for  eternal  things !  Liberty 
of  thought, — Equality  in  work — Fraternity  in  faith !  But 
your  political  leaders,  ever  at  work  for  themselves,  misread 
these  words  for  you,  even  as  your  priests  misread  Christ's 
Gospel.  They  make  out  for  you  that  you  want  Liberty 
of  action — Equality  of  riches,  Fraternity  in  position. 
These  things  are  by  Nature's  law,  impossible.  They  are 
not  wanted, — and  reasonable  consideration  will  prove  to 
you  that  you  do  not  want  them, — otherwise  you  would 
be  asking  for  a  disordered  universe,  a  chaos  instead  of  a 
world  !  The  strong  must  always  prevail, — but  by  strong, 
I  do  not  meafi  the  strong  liar  or  the  strong  evil-doer. 
No!  For  a  lie  contains  in  itself  the  germ  of  rottenness 


478  The  Master-Christian. 

which  shall  kill — and  the  evil-doer  is  not  strong  but  weak, 
because  cowardly.  There  is  no  strength  in  fear;  no 
power  in  disease !  Hence  I  repeat  again,  the  strong  must 
prevail — and  by  the  strong,  I  mean  the  Good !  Evil  is  al- 
ways weak, — it  flourishes  for  a  day,  a  month,  a  year,  or 
if  you  will,  a  thousand  years,  for  a  thousand  years  are 
but  a  moment  in  the  sight  of  Heaven;  but  for  ever  and 
ever  justice  is  done, — for  ever  and  ever  Right  comes  up- 
permost, and  the  Strong  which  is  God,  than  whom  is  none 
stronger,  and  who  is  all  Goodness — prevails !  Liberty  of 
thought  should  be  the  privilege  of  every  human  creature, 
but  we  must  never  mistake  it  for  Liberty  of  action.  Lib- 
erty of  action  is  restrained  by  law  in  the  world  of  nature, 
and  must  be  equally  restrained  in  the  world  of  men.  But 
insist  on  Equality  in  work!  What  do  I  mean  by  Equality 
in  work?  I  mean  this, — that  every  man's  work  is  en- 
titled to  consideration  and  respect,  in  every  phase  of  life. 
The  road-mender  works  well  and  makes  a  smooth  way 
for  men  and  horses ; — he  deserves  my  .honour  for  his 
skill, — he  has  it, — he  shall  have  it, — for  I  know  he  can 
teach  me  many  things  of  which  I  am  ignorant.  The 
chief  of  the  State  works  well, — organizes  ; — puts  grave 
matters  in  order  and  establishes  necessary  government — • 
he  also  shall  have  my  respect, — he  has  it, — he  de- 
serves his  carriage  and  pair  as  fully  as  the  road- 
mender  deserves  his  dinner.  We  should  not  grudge  or  envy 
either  man  the  reward  due  to  their  separate  positions. 
The  nightingale  has  a  sweet  voice, — the  peacock  screams 
— the  one  is  plain  in  colour,  the  other  gorgeous, — and 
there  is  no  actual  equality;  yet  the  one  bird  does  not 
grudge  the  other  its  position,  inasmuch  as  though  there 
is  no  Equality  there  is  Compensation.  So  it  is  with  men. 
There  is  always  Compensation  in  every  lot.  So  it  should 
be;  so  it  must  be.  Equality  in  work  means  simply,  re- 
spect for  every  kind  of  work  done,  and  contempt  for  none 
except  for  him  who  does  no  work  at  all !  And  lastly  the 
word  '  Fraternity.'  Glorious  word,  meaning  so  much ! — 
holding  suggestions  of  peace,  joy  and  purity  in  its  mere 
utterance!  Not  a  Fraternity  of  possession — for  then 
should  we  become  lower  than  the  beasts,  who  have  their 
own  separate  holes,  their  separate  mates,  their  separate 
young — but  Fraternity  of  Faith ! — the  one  Faith  that 
teaches  us  to  cry  '  Abba  Father,' — that  makes  us  under- 


The  Master-Christian.  479 

stand  Christ  as  our  Brother — and  all  of  us  the  children  of 
one  family, — one  creation  moving  on  in  process  of  evolve- 
ment  to  greater  things !  Let  any  priest  tell  me  that  I  am 
not  a  child  of  God,  and  I  will  retort  that  he,  by  such  an 
utterance,  has  proved  himself  a  child  of  the  devil.  Igno- 
rant, sinful,  full  of  miserable  imperfections  as  I  am,  I  am 
of  God  as  the  ant  is,  the  worm,  the  fly ! — and  if  I  have  no 
more  of  God  in  me  than  such  insects,  still  I  am  thankful  to 
have  so  much !  What  priest  shall  dare  to  say  how  much 
or  how  little  of  God  there  was  in  the  composition  of  this 
man  lying  in  the  grave  at  our  feet,  who  was  my  father? 
Excommunication !  Who  can  excommunicate  the  soul 
from  its  Creator?  Who  can  part  the  sunbeam  from  the 
sun  ?  Excommunication !  The  human  being  who,  on  what 
he  calls  Church  authority,  shall  thrust  his  brother  away 
from  any  form  of  communion  which  he  himself  judges 
and  accepts  as  valuable,  is  one  of  those  whom  Christ  de- 
clared to  be  '  in  danger  of  hell-fire.'  For  there  is  no  man 
who  can,  if  he  be  true  to  himself,  condemn  his  brother 
man,  or  say  to  him,  '  Stand  back !  I  am  holier  than 
thou ! '  Therefore,  for  him  whom  we  lay  down  to  rest 
to-day,  let  there  be  pardon  and  peace !  Let  us  remember 
that  for  all  his  sins  he  atoned,  by  full  confession; — by 
publicly  branding  himself  in  the  sight  of  that  society  in 
whose  estimation  he  had  till  then  seemed  something  su- 
perior,— by  voluntarily  resigning  himself  to  the  wrath  of 
the  Church  of  which  he  was  a  professed  servant.  Cursed 
by  his  Creed,  he  may  now  perchance  be  blessed  by  his 
Creator!  For  he  died,  clean-souled  and  true — washed  of 
hypocrisy, — with  no  secret  vice  left  unhidden  for  others 
to  rake  up  and  expose  to  criticism.  Whatsoever  wrong 
he  did,  he  openly  admitted — whatever  false  things  he  said, 
he  retracted.  I  believe — and  I  am  sure  we  all  believe, 
that  his  spirit  thus  purified,  is  acceptable  to  God.  He 
has  left  no  lies  behind  him — no  debts — no  wrongs  to  be 
avenged.  He  told  you  all,  people  of  Paris,  what  he  was 
before  he  left  you, — and,  looking  down  into  this  dark 
grave,  we  know  what  he  is.  A  senseless,  sightless,  stif- 
fening form  of  clay,  from  which  the  soul  that  animated 
it  into  action  has  fled.  Let  the  Church  excommunicate 
this  poor  corpse  of  my  father, — let  it  muster  its  forces 
against  his  memory  as  it  will,  I  swear  before  vou  all,  that 
memory  shall  live!  Yes — for  I,  his  son,  will  guard  it; 


480  The  Master-Christian. 

I  whom  he  so  late  acknowledged  as  his  own  flesh  and 
blood,  will  be  a  shield  of  defence  for  his  name  till  I  die ! 
If  priests  would  attack  him,  they  must  attack  him  through 
me ! — and  I,  despite  a  thousand  Churches,  a  thousand 
Creeds,  a  thousand  Sacraments,  will  firmly  maintain 
that  a  man  who  frankly  repents  his  sins  and  is  openly  hon- 
est with  the  world  before  he  leaves  it,  is  a  better  Chris- 
tian than  he,  who  for  the  sake  of  mere  appearances  and 
conventionality,  juggles  with  death  and  passes  to  his 
Maker's  presence  in  a  black  cloud  of  lies!  Better  to  be 
crucified  with  Christ,  than  live  with  the  High  Priests  and 
Pharisees  of  the  modern  Jerusalem  of  our  social  con- 
ditions! Truth  may  seem  to  perish  on  the  Cross  of  in- 
justice  it  may  be  buried  in  a  sealed  sepulchre,  the  en- 
trance to  which  may  be  closed  up  by  a  great  stone  of 
Mammon-bulk  and  heaviness — but  the  moment  must  come 
when  the  Angel  descends  from  Heaven — when  the  stone 
is  rolled  away — and  the  eternal,  living  God  rises  again 
and  walks  the  world  in  the  glory  of  a  new  dawn !  " 

He  ended — and  for  a  moment  there  was  a  deep  silence. 
There  had  been  no  funeral  service,  for  no  priest  would  at- 
tend the  burial  of  the  heretic  Abbe.  So,  after  a  brief 
pause,  Cyrillon  knelt  down  by  the  grave, — and  carried 
away  by  the  solemnity  of  the  scene,  as  well  as  by  their 
own  emotional  excitement,  more  than  half  the  crowd 
knelt  with  him,  as,  bending  his  head  reverently  over  his 
clasped  hands,  he  prayed  aloud — 

"  Oh  God  of  Love,  whose  tenderness  and  care  for  Thy 
creation  is  everywhere  disclosed  to  us,  from  the  smallest 
atom  of  dust,  to  the  stupendous  majesty  of  Thy  million 
worlds  in  the  air, — give  we  beseech  Thee,  to  this  perished 
clay  which  once  was  man,  the  beauty  wHich  transforms 
vile  things  to  virtuous,  and  endows  our  seeming  death 
with  life !  Let  Thy  eternal  Law  of  Resurrection  so  work 
upon  this  senseless  body  that  it  may  pass  through  Earth 
to  Heaven,  and  there  find  finer  grades  of  being,  higher 
forms  of  development,  greater  opportunities  of  perfec- 
tion. And  for  the  Soul,  which  is  Thine  own  breath  of 
fire,  O  God,  receive  it,  purified  from  sin,  and  make  it 
worthy  of  the  final  purpose  for  which  Thou  hast  des- 
tined it  from  the  beginning!  And  grant  unto  us,  left 
here  to  still  work  out  our  own  salvation  on  this  the  planet 
Thou  hast  chosen  for  our  trial,  the  power  to  comprehend 


The  Master-Christian.  481 

Thy  laws,  and  faithfully  to  obey  them, — to  forgive  as 
we  would  be  forgiven, — -to  love  as  we  would  be  loved, — 
and  to  lift  our  thoughts  from  the  appearance  of  this  grave 
to  the  Reality  of  Thy  beneficence,  which  hath  ordained 
Light  out  of  Darkness,  and  out  of  Death,  Life,  as  proved 
most  gloriously  to  us  by  Christ  our  Brother,  our  Teacher 
and  our  Master !  Amen !  " 

His  prayer  finished,  the  young  man  rose,  and  taking  a 
wreath  of  ivy,  which  he  had  travelled  to  Touraine  him- 
self to  bring  from  the  \valls  of  the  simple  cottage  where 
his  mother  had  lived  and  worked  and  died,  he  dropped  it 
gently  on  the  coffin  and  signed  to  the  grave-diggers  to 
fill  in  the  earth.  Then  turning  to  the  crowd,  he  said, 

"  My  'friends,  I  thank  you  all  for  the  sympathy  which 
has  brought  you  here  to-day.  '  It  is  finished.'  The  dead 
man  is  at  rest !  And  now  as  you  go, — as  you  return  to 
your  own  homes, — homes  happy  or  unhappy  as  the  case 
may  be,  I  will  only  ask  you  to  remember  that  there  is  no 
permanence  or  virtue  in  falsehood  whether  it  be  false- 
hood religious  or  falsehood  political ; — and  he  who  dies 
truthfully  dealing  with  his  fellow-men,  lives  again  \vith 
God,  and  is  not,  as  Scripture  says  '  dead  in  his  sins/  but 
born  again  to  a  new  and  more  hopeful  existence ! " 

With  the  last  words  he  gave  the  sign  of  dismissal.  The 
people  began  to  disperse  slowly  and  somewhat  reluc- 
tantly, every  member  of  the  crowd  being  curious  to  obtain 
a  nearer  view  of  the  young  orator  who  not  only  spoke  his 
thoughts  fearlessly,  but  whose  pen  was  as  a  scythe  mow- 
ing down  a  harvest  of  shams  and  hypocrisies,  and  whose 
frank  utterance  from  the  heart  was  so  honest  as  to  be  ab- 
solutely convincing  to  the  public.  But  he,  after  giving  a 
few  further  instructions  to  the  men  who  were  begin- 
ning to  close  in  his  father's  grave,  walked  away  with  one 
or  two  friends,  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight  in  one  of  the 
many  winding  paths  that  led  from  the  cemetery  out  into 
the  road,  so  that  many  who  anxiously  sought  to  study 
his  features  more  nearly,  were  disappointed.  One  per- 
son there  was,  who  had  listened  to  his  oration  in  wonder 
and  open-mouthed  admiration, — this  was  Jean  Patoux. 
He  had  taken  the  opportunity  offered  him  in  a  "  cheap 
excursion  "  from  Rouen  to  Paris,  to  visit  a  cousin  of  his 
who  was  a  small  florist  owning  a  shop  in  the  Rue  St. 
Honore, — and  by  chance,  he  and  this  same  cousin,  while 


482  The  Master-Christian. 

quietly  walking  together  down  one  of  the  boulevards,  had 
got  entangled  in  the  press  of  people  who  were  pouring 
into  Pere-la-Chaise  on  this  occasion,  and  had  followed 
them  out  of  curiosity,  not  at  all  knowing  what  they  were 
going  to  see.  But  the  florist,  known  as  Pierre  Midon, 
soon  realised  the  situation  and  explained  it  all  to  his  pro- 
vincial relative. 

"  It  is  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  they  are  burying,"  he  said, 
— "  He  was  a  wonderful  preacher !  All  fashionable  Paris 
used  to  go  and  hear  him  till  he  made  that  pretty  scandal 
of  himself  a  month  or  so  ago.  He  was  a  popular  and  a 
social  favourite;  but  one  fine  morning  he  preached  a  ser- 
mon to  his  congregation  all  against  the  Church,  and  for 
that  matter  against  himself  too,  for  he  then  and  there  con- 
fessed before  everybody  that  he  was  no  true  priest.  And 
as  he  preached, — what  think  you? — a  young  man  fired  a 
pistol  shot  at  him  for  his  rascality,  as  everyone  supposed, 
and  when  the  gendarmes  would  have  taken  the  assassin, 
this  same  Abbe  stopped  them,  and  refused  to  punish  his 
own  son!  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a  marvel  ?  And 
something  still  more  marvellous  followed,  for  that  very 
son  who  tried  to  kill  him  was  no  other  than  Gys  Grandit, 
the  man  we  have  just  heard  speaking,  though  nobody 
knew  it  till  a  week  afterwards.  Such  a  scene  you  never 
saw  in  a  church ! — Paris  was  wild  with  excitement  for  a 
dozen  hours,  which  is  about  as  long  as  its  fevers  last, — 
and  the  two  of  them,  father  and  son,  went  straight  away 
to  a  famous  Cardinal  then  staying  in  Paris, — and  he,  by 
the  way,  was  in  the  church  when  the  Abbe  publicly  con- 
fessed himself Cardinal  Bonpre " 

"  Ah !  "  interrupted  Patoux  excitedly,  "  This  interests 
me !  For  that  most  eminent  Cardinal  stayed  at  my  inn  in 
Rouen  before  coming  on  here !  " 

"  So !  "  And  Cousin  Pierre  looked  rather  surprised. 
"  Without  offence  to  thee,  Jean,  it  was  a  poor  place  for  a 
Cardinal,  was  it  not?" 

"  Poor,  truly, — but  sufficient  for  a  man  of  his  mind !  " 
replied  Patoux  tranquilly, — "  For  look  you,  he  is  trying 
to  live  as  Christ  lived, — and  Christ  cared  naught  for 
luxury." 

Pierre  Midon  laughed. 

"  By  my  faith !  If  priests  were  to  live  as  Christ  lived, 
Paris  might  learn  to  respect  them!  "  he  said, — "  But  we 


The  Master-Christian.  483 

know  that  they  will  not, — and  that  few  of  them  are  bet- 
ter than  the  worst  of  us !  But  to  finish  my  story — this 
Abbe  and  the  son  whom  he  so  suddenly  and  strangely 
acknowledged,  went  to  this  Cardinal  Bonpre  for  some 
reason — most  probably  for  pardon,  though  truly  I  can- 
not tell  you  what  happened — for  almost  immediately,  the 
Abbe  went  out  of  Paris  to  the  Chateau  D'Agramont  some 
miles  away,  and  his  son  went  writh  him,  and  there  the  two 
stayed  together  till  the  old  man  died.  And  as  for  Car- 
dinal Bonpre,  he  went  at  once  to  Rome  with  his  niece,  the 
famous  painter,  Angela  Sovrani, — I  imagine  he  may  have 
interceded  with  the  Pope,  or  tried  to  do  so  for  the  Abbe, 
but  whatever  happened,  there  they  are  now,  for  all  I  know 
to  the  contrary.  And  we  heard  that  the  Church  was 
about  to  excommunicate,  or  had  already  excommunicated 
Vergniaud,  though  I  suppose  Cardinal  Bonpre  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  that  ?  " 

"  Not  he !  "  said  Patoux  firmly,  "  He  would  never  ex- 
communicate or  do  any  unkind  thing  to  a  living  soul — 
ihat  I  am  pretty  sure  of.  He  is  the  very  Cardinal  who 
performed  the  miracle  in  my  house  that  has  caused  us  no 
end  of  trouble, — and  he  is  under  the  displeasure  of  the 
Pope  for  it  now,  if  all  I  hear  be  true." 

"  That  is  strange !  "  said  Pierre  with  a  laugh, — "  To 
be  under  the  displeasure  of  the  Pope  for  doing  a  good 
deed !  " 

"  Truly,  it  seems  so,"  agreed  Patoux, — "  But  you  must 
remember  there  was  no  paying  shrine  concerned  in  it! 
Mark  you  that,  my  Pierre !  Even  our  Lady  of  Bon  Se- 
cours ,  near  to  Rouen  as  she  is,  was  not  applied  to.  The 
miracle  took  place  in  the  poor  habitation  of  an  unknown 
little  inn-keeper, — that  is  myself, — and  there  was  no 
solemnity  at  all  about  it — no  swinging  of  incense — no 
droning  of  prayers — no  lighting  of  candles — no  anything, 
but  just  a  good  old  man  with  a  crippled  child  on  his 
knee,  praying  to  the  Christ  \vhom  he  believed  was  able  to 
help  him.  And — and " 

He  broke  off  suddenly  and  crossed  himself.  Pierre 
Midon  stared  at  the  action. 

"  What  ails  thee,  Jean?  "  he  asked  brusquely, — "  Hast 
thou  remembered  a  dead  sin,  or  a  passing  soul  ?  " 

"  Neither,"  replied  Patoux  slowly,  "  But  only  just  the 
thought  of  another  child — a  waif  and  stray  whom  the 


484  The  Master-Christian. 

good  Cardinal  found  in  the  streets  of  Rouen,  outside  our 
great  Cathedral  door.  A  gentle  lad ! — my  wife  was 
greatly  taken  with  him ; — and  he  was  present  in  my  house 
too,  when  the  miracle  of  healing  was  performed." 

"  And  for  that,  is  there  any  need  to  cross  thyself  like 
a  mumbling  old  woman  afraid  of  the  devil?"  enquired 
his  cousin. 

Patoux  smiled  a  slow  smile. 

"  Gently,  Pierre — gently !  "  he  said.  '  Thou  art  of 
Paris, — I  of  the  provinces.  That  makes  all  the  difference 
in  the  way  we  look  at  life.  There  are  very  few  holy 
things  in  great  cities, — but  there  are  many  in  the  country. 
Every  day  when  I  am  at  home  I  go  out  of  the  town  to 
work  in  my  field, — and  I  feel  the  clean  breath  of  the 
wind,  the  scent  of  the  earth  and  the  colours  of  the  sky 
and  the  flowers, — and  I  know  quite  well  there  is  a  God, 
or  these  blessings  could  not  be.  For  if  there  were 
only  Chance  and  a  Man  to  manage  the  universe,  a  pretty 
muddle  we  should  have  of  it !  And  when  I  see  or  think 
of  a  holy  thing,  I  sign  the  cross  out  of  old  childhood's 
habit, — so  just  now,  when  I  remembered  the  boy  whom 
the  Cardinal  rescued  from  the  streets,  I  knew  I  was 
thinking  of  a  holy  thing;  and  that  explains  my  action." 

"  How  dost  thou  prove  a  waif  of  the  streets  a  holy 
thing?  "  enquired  Pierre  curiously. 

.  Patoux  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  gave  a  wide  dep- 
recatory wave  of  both  hands. 

"  Ah,  that  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you !  "  he  said, — "  It 
is  a  matter  beyond  my  skill.  But  the  boy  was  a  fair- 
faced  boy, — I  never  saw  him  myself " 

Midon  laughed  outright. 

"  Never  saw  him  thyself !  "  he  cried, — "  And  yet  thou 
dost  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  at  the  thought  of  him! 
Diantre !  Patoux,  thou  art  crazy !  " 

"  Maybe — maybe,"  said  Patoux  mildly, — they  were 
walking  together  out  of  the  cemetery  by  this  time  in  the 
wake  of  the  rapidly  dispersing  crowd, — "  But  I  have  al- 
ways taken  my  wife's  word, — and  I  take  it  now.  And 
she  has  said  over  and  over  again  to  me  that  the  boy  had  a 
rare  sweet  nature.  And  then — the  child  whom  the  Car- 
dinal healed, — Fabien  Doucet, — will  always  insist  upon 
it  that  it  was  the  touch  of  that  same  boy  which  truly 
cured  him  and  not  the  Cardinal  at  all !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  485 

"  Mere  fancy !  "  said  Pierre  carelessly, — "  And  truly 
if  it  were  not  for  knowing  thee  to  be  honest,  I  should 
doubt  the  miracle  altogether !  " 

"  And  thou  wouldst  be  of  the  majority!  "  said  Patoux 
equably — "  For  our  house  has  been  a  very  bee-hive  of 
buzz  and  trouble  ever  since  a  bit  of  good  was  done  in  it — 
and  Martine  Doucet,  the  mother  of  the  cured  child,  has 
led  the  life  of  the  damned,  thanks  to  the  kindness  of  her 
neighbours  and  friends !  And  will  you  believe  me,  the 
Archbishop  of  Rouen  himself  took  the  trouble  to  walk 
into  the  market-place  and  assure  her  she  was  a  wicked 
woman, — that  she  had  taught  her  boy  to  play  the  cripple 
in  order  to  excite  pity, — and  I  believe  he  thinks  she  is  con- 
cerned in  the  strange  disappearance  of  his  clerk,  Claude 
Cazeau.  For  this  same  Cazeau  came  to  our  house  one 
night  when  Martine  was  there,  and  told  her  he  had.  in- 
structions to  take  her  to  Rome  to  see  the  Pope,  and  her 
child  with  her,  for  the  purpose  of  explaining  the  miracle 
in  her  own  words,  and  giving  the  full  life-history  of  her- 
self and  the  little  one.  And  she  was  angry, — ah,  she  can 
be  very  angry,  poor  Martine ! — she  has  a  shrill  tongue 
and  a  wild  eye,  and  she  said  out  flatly  that  she  would  not 
go,  and  furthermore  that  she  would  not  be  caught  in  a 
priest's  trap,  or  words  to  that  effect.  And  this  clerk, 
Cazeau, — a  miserable  little  white-livered  rascal,  crawled 
away  from  my  door  in  a  rage  with  us  all,  and  was  nevqr 
seen  again.  The  police  have  hunted  high  and  low  for 
trace  of  him,  but  can  find  none.  But  I  have  my  sus- 
picions  " 

"What  are  they?"  enquired  Midon, — "That  he  went 
out  like  Judas,  and  hanged  himself?  " 

'  Truly  he  might  have  done  that  without  loss  or  trouble 
to  anyone !  "  said  Patoux  tranquilly, — "  But  he  thought 
too  well  of  himself  to  be  quite  so  ready  for  a  meeting  with 
fe  bon  Dieu !  No ! — I  will  tell  you  what  I  think.  There 
was  a  poor  girl  who  used  to  roam  about  the  streets  of  our 
town,  called  Marguerite;  she  was  once  a  sensible,  bright 
creature  enough,  the  only  daughter  of  old  Valmond  the 
saddler,  who  died  from  a  kick  from  his  favourite  horse 
one  day,  and  left  his  child  all  alone  in  the  world.  She 
was  a  worker  in  a  great  silk-factory,  and  was  happy  and 
contented,  so  it  seemed,  till — well !  It  is  the  old  story — 
a  man  with  a  woman,  and  the  man  is  most  often  the  devil 


486 


The  Master-Christian. 


m  it.  Anyway,  this  Marguerite  went  mad  on  her  love- 
affair, — and  we  called  her  '  La  Folle,' — not  harshly — for 
all  the  town  was  kind  to  her.  I  mentioned  her  name  once 
in  the  presence  of  this  man  Cazeau,  and  he  started  as  if 
an  adder  had  bitten  him.  And  now — he  has  disappeared 
— and  strange  to  say,  so  has  she !  " 

"  So  has  she !  "  echoed  Midon,  opening  his  eyes  a  little 
wider — "Then  what  do  you  suppose? " 

"  Just  this,"  said  Patoux,  emphasizing  his  words  by 
marking  them  out  with  a  fat  thumb  on  the  palm  of  the 

other  hand "  That  Cazeau  was  the  villain  of  the 

piece  as  they  say  in  the  theatres,  and  that  she  has  punished 
him  for  his  villainy.  She  used  to  swear  in  her  mad 
speech  that  if  ever  she  met  the  man  who  had  spoilt  her 
life  for  her,  she  would  kill  him ;  and  that  is  just  what  I 
believe  she  has  done !  " 

"But  would  she  kill  herself  also?"  demanded  Pierre 
— "  And  what  has  become  of  one  or  both  bodies  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  There  thou  dost  ask  more  than  I  can  answer !  " 
said  Patoux.  "  But  what  is  very  certain  is,  that  both 
bodies,  living  or  dead,  have  disappeared.  And  as  I  said 
to  my  wife  when  she  put  these  things  into  my  head, — for 
look  you,  my  head  is  but  a  dull  one,  and  if  my  wife  did 
not  put  things  into  it,  it  would  be  but  an  emptiness  alto- 
gether,— I  said  to  my  wife  that  if  she  were  right  in  her 
suspicions — and  she  generally  is  right — this  Marguerite 
had  taken  but  a  just  vengeance.  For  you  will  not  prove 
to  me  that  there  is  any  man  living  who  has  the  right  to 
take  the  joy  out  of  a  woman's  soul  and  destroy  it." 

"  It  is  done  every  day !  "  said  Midon  with  a  careless 
shrug, — "  Women  give  themselves  too  easily !  " 

"  And  men  take  too  greedily ! "  said  Patoux  obsti- 
nately— "  What  virtue  there  is  in  the  matter  is  on  the 
woman's  side.  For  she  mostly  gives  herself  for  love's 
sake, — but  the  man  cares  naught  save  for  his  own  selfish 
pleasure.  As  a  man  myself,  I  am  on  the  side  of  the 
woman  who  revenges  herself  on  her  betrayer." 

"  For  that  matter  so  am  I !  "  said  Midon.  "  Women 
have  a  hard  time  of  it  in  this  world,  even  under  the  best 
of  circumstances, — and  whatever  man  makes  it  harder 
for  them,  should  be  horse-whipped  within  an  inch  of  his 
life,  if  I  had  my  way.  I  have  a  wife — and  a  young 
daughter — and  my  old  mother  sits  at  home  with  us, 


The  Master-Christian.  487 

as  cheery  and  bright  a  body  as  you  would  find  in  all 
France, — and  so  I  know  the  worth  of  women.  If  any 
rascal  were  to  insult  my  girl  by  so  much  as  a  look,  he 
would  find  himself  in  the  ditch  with  a  sore  back  before  he 
had  time  to  crv  '  Dieu  merci ! ' ' 

He  laughed; — Patoux  laughed  with  him,  and  then 
went  on, — 

"  I  told  thee  of  the  miracle  in  my  house,  and  of  the  boy 
the  Cardinal  found  in  the  streets, — well ! — these  things 
have  had  their  good  effect  in  my  own  family.  My  two 
children,  Henri  and  Babette — ah !  What  children !  God 
be  praised  for  them !  As  bright,  as  kind  as  the  sunlight, 
— and  their  love  for  me  and  their  mother  is  a  great  thing 
— a  good  thing,  look  you ! — one  cannot  be  sufficiently 
grateful  for  it.  For  nowadays,  children  too  often  de- 
spise their  parents,  which  is  bad  luck  to  them  in  their 
after  days ;  but  ours,  wild  as  they  were  a  while  ago,  are 
all  obedience  and  sweetness.  I  used  often  to  wonder 
what  would  become  of  them  as  they  grew  up — for  they 
were  wilful  and  angry-tempered,  and  ofttimes  cruel  in 
speech — but  I  have  no  fear  now.  Henri  works  well  at 
his  lessons,  and  Babette  too, — and  there  is  something  bet- 
ter than  the  learning  of  lessons  about  them, — something 
new  and  bright  in  their  dispositions  which  makes  us  all 
happy.  And  this  has  come  about  since  the  Cardinal 
stayed  with  us ;  and  also  since  the  pretty  boy  was  found 
outside  the  Cathedral !  " 

"  That  boy  seems  to  have  impressed  thee  more  than 
the  Cardinal  himself !  "  said  Midon — "  but  now  I  remem- 
ber well — on  the  day  the  Abbe  Vergniaud  preached  his 
last  sermon,  and  was  nearly  shot  dead  by  his  own  son, 
there  was  a  rumour  that  his  life  had  been  saved  by  some 
boy  who  was  an  attendant  on  the  Cardinal,  and  who  in- 
terposed himself  between  the  Abbe  and  the  flying  bullet, 
— that  must  have  been  the  one  you  mean?" 

"  Xo  doubt — no  doubt !  "  said  Patoux,  nodding  gravely 
— "  There  was  something  about  him  that  seemed  a  sort 
of  shield  against  evil — or  at  least,  so  said  my  wife, — and 
so  say  my  children.  Only  the  other  day,  my  boy  Henri 
— he  is  big  and  full  of  mischief  as  boys  will  be — was 
playing  with  two  or  three  younger  lads,  and  one  of  them 
like  a  little  sneak,  stole  up  behind  him  and  gave  him  a 
blow  with  a  stick,  which  broke  in  two  with  the  force  of 


488  The  Master-Christian. 

the  way  the  young  rascal  went  to  work  with  it.  Now, 
thought  I,  there  will  be  need  for  me  to  step  out  and  stop 
this  quarrel,  for  Henri  will  beat  that  miserable  little 
wretch  into  a  jelly!  But  nothing  of  the  sort!  My  boy 
turned  round  with  a  bright  laugh — picked  up  the  two 
pieces  of  the  stick  and  gave  them  back  to  the  little  coward 
with  a  civil  bow  '  Hit  in  front  next  time !  "  he  said.  And 
the  little  wretch  turned  tail  and  began  to  boo-hoo  in  fine 
fashion — crying  as  if  he  had  been  hurt  instead  of  Henri. 
But  they  are  the  best  friends  in  the  world  now.  I  asked 
Henri  about  it  afterwards,  and  he  turned  as  red  as  an 
apple  in  the  cheeks.  '  I  wanted  to  kill  him,  father/  he 
said, — '  but  I  knew  that  the  boy  who  was  with  Cardinal 
Bonpre  would  not  have  done  it — and  so  I  did  not ! ' 
Now  look  you,  for  a  rough  little  fellow  such  as  Henri, 
that  was  a  great  victory  over  his  passions — and  there  is 
no  doubt  the  Cardinal's  little  foundling  was  the  cause  of 
his  so  managing  himself." 

Pierre  Midon  had  nothing  to  say  in  answer, — the  sub- 
ject was  getting  beyond  him,  and  he  was  a  man  who,  when 
thought  became  difficult,  gave  up  thinking  altogether. 

And  while  these  two  simple-minded  worthies  were  thus 
talking  and  strolling  together  home  through  the  streets 
of  Paris,  Cyrillon  Vergniaud,  having  parted  from  the  few 
friends  who  had  paid  him  the  respect  of  their  attendance 
at  his  father's  grave,  was  making  his  way  towards  the 
Champs  Elysees  in  a  meditative  frame  of  mind,  when 
his  attention  was  suddenly  caught  and  riveted  by  a  plac* 
ard  set  up  in  front  of  one  of  the  newspaper  kiosks  at  the 
corner  of  a  boulevard,  on  which  in  great  black  letters, 
was  the  name  "  Angela  Sovrani."  His  heart  gave  one 
great  bound — then  stood  still — the  streets  of  the  city 
reeled  round  him,  and  he  grew  cold  and  sick.  "  Meurtre 
de  la  celebre  Angela  Sovrani !  " 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  was  about,  he  bought  the 
paper.  The  news  was  in  a  mere'  paragraph  briefly  stat- 
ing that  the  celebrated  artist  had  been  found  stabbed  in 
her  studio,  and  that  up  to  the  present  there  was  no  trace 
of  the  unknown  assassin. 

Passionate  and  emotional  as  his  warm  nature  was,  the 
great  tears  rushed  to  Cyrillon's  eyes.  In  one  moment  he 
realized  what  he  had  been  almost  unconsciously  cherish- 
ing in  his  own  mind  ever  since  Angela's  beautiful  smile 


The  Master-Christian.  489 

had  shone  upon  him.  When  in  the  few  minutes  of  speech 
he  had  had  with  her  she  admitted  herself  to  be  the  mys- 
terious correspondent  who  had  constantly  written  to  him 
as  "  Gys  Grandit,"  fervently  sympathising  with  his  theo- 
ries, and  urging  him  on  to  fresh  and  more  courageous  ef- 
fort, he  had  been  completely  overcome,  not  only  with  sur- 
prise,, but  also  with  admiration.  It  had  taken  him  some 
time  to  realize  that  she,  the  greatest  artist  of  her  day,  was 
actually  his  unknown  friend  of  more  than  two  years' 
correspondence.  He  knew  she  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  her  comrade  in  art,  Florian  Varillo,  but 
that  fact  did  not  prevent  him  from  feeling  for  her 
all  the  sudden  tenderness,  the  instinctive  intimacy 
of  spirit  with  spirit,  which  in  the  highest  natures 
means  the  highest  love.  Then, — they  had  all  been 
brought  together  so  strangely! — his  father,  and  him- 
self, with  Cardinal  Bonpre, — and  she — the  Cardin- 
al's fair  niece,  daughter  of  a  proud  Roman  house, 
— she  had  not  turned  away  from  the  erring  and  repent- 
ant priest  whom  the  Church  had  cast  out ;  she  had  given 
him  her  hand  at  parting,  and  had  been  as  sweetly  con- 
siderate of  his  feelings  as  though  she  had  been  his  own 
daughter.  And  when  he  was  ill  and  dying  at  the  Cha- 
teau D'Agramont,  she  had  written  to  him  two  or  three 
times  in  the  kindest  and  tenderest  way,  and  her  letters 
had  not  been  answered,  because  the  Abbe  was  too  ill  to 

write,  and  he,  Cyrillon,  had  been  afraid lest  he  should 

say  too  much  !  And  now — she  was  dead  ? — murdered  ? 
Xo ! — he  would  not  believe  it ! 

"  God  is  good !  "  said  Cyrillon,  crushing  the  paper  in 
his  hand  and  raising  his  eyes  to  the  cloudy  heavens — "  He 
does  nothing  that  is  unnecessarily  cruel.  He  would  not 
take  that  brilliant  creature  away  till  she  had  won  the  re- 
ward of  her  work — happiness !  No ! — something  tells  me 
this  news  is  false! — she  cannot  be  dead!  But  I  will 
start  for  Rome  to-night." 

He  returned  to  the  cheap  pension  where  he  had  his 
room,  and  at  once  packed  his  valise.  With  all  his  fame 
he  was  extremely  poor ;  he  had  for  the  most  part  refused 
to  take  payment  for  his  books  and  pamphlets  which  had 
been  so  freely  spread  through-  France,  preferring  to  work 
for  his  daily  bread  in  the  fields  of  an  extensive  farm  near 
his  birthplace  in  Touraine.  He  had  begun  there  as  a 


49°  The  Master-Christian, 

little  lad,  earning-  his  livelihood  by  keeping  the  birds  away 
from  the  crops — anc1  had  steadily  risen  by  degrees, 
through  his  honesty  and  diligence,  to  the  post  of  superin- 
tendent or  bailiff  of  the  whole  concern.  No  one  was 
more  trusted  'than  he  by  his  employers, — no  one  more 
worthy  of  trust.  But  his  wages  were  by  no  means  con- 
siderable,— and  though  he  saved  as  much  as  he  could, 
and  lived  on  the  coarsest  fare,  it  was  a  matter  of  some 
trouble  for  him  to  spare  the  money  to  take  him  from 
Paris  to  Rome.  What  cash  he  had,  he  carried  about  him 
in  a  leathern  bag,  and  this  he  now  emptied  on  the  table 
to  estimate  the  strength  of  his  finances.  Any  possibility 
of  changing  his  mind  and  waiting  for  further  news  from 
Rome  did  not  occur  to  him.  One  of  his  chief  character- 
istics was  the  determined  way  he  always  carried  through 
anything  he  had  set  his  mind  upon.  In  one  of  his  pub- 
lic speeches  he  had  once  said — "  Let  all  the  powers  of  hell 
oppose  me,  I  will  storm  them  through  and  pass  on !  For 
the  powers  of  Heaven  are  on  my  side !  " — the  audacity 
and  daring  of  this  utterance  carrying  away  his  audience 
in  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  enthusiasm.  And  though  it  is 
related  of  a  certain  cynical  philosopher,  that  when  asked 
by  one  of  his  scholars  for  a  definition  of  hell,  he  dashed 
into  the  face  of  his  enquirer  an  empty  purse  for  answer, 
the  lack  of  funds  was  no  obstacle  to  Cyrillon's  intended 
journey. 

"  Because  if  I  can  go  no  other  way,  I  will  persuade  the 
guard  to  let  me  ride  in  the  van,  or  travel  in  company  with 
a  horse  or  dog — quite  as  good  animals  as  myself  in  their 
way,"  he  thought. 

With  a  characteristic  indifference  to  all  worldly  mat- 
ters he  had  entirely  forgotten  that  the  father  whom  he 
had  just  buried  had  died  wealthy,  and  that  his  entire  for- 
tune had  been  left  to  the  son  whom  he  had  so  lately  and 
strangely  acknowledged.  And  when, — while  he  was  still 
engaged  in  counting  up  his  small  stock  of  money, — a 
knock  came  at  the  door,  and  a  well-dressed  man  of 
business-like  appearance  entered  with  a  smiling  and 
propitiatory  air,  addressing  him  as  "  Monsieur  Vergn- 
iaud,"  Cyrillon  did  not  know  at  all  what  to  make  of  his 
visitor.  Sweeping  his  coins  together  with  one  hand,  he 
stood  up,  his  flashing  eyes  glancing  the  stranger  over 
carelessly. 


The  Master-Christian.  491 

"  Your  name,  sir  ?  "  he  demanded — "  I  am  not  ac- 
quainted with  you." 

The  smiling  man  unabashed,  sought  about  for  a  place 
to  put  down  his  shiny  hat,  and  smiled  still  more  broadly. 

"  Xo !  "  he  said — "  No !  You  would  not  be  likely  to 
know  me.  I  have  not  the  celebrity  of  Gys  Grandit!  I 
am  only  Andre  Petitot — a  lawyer,  residing  in  the  Boule- 
vard Malesherbes.  I  have  just  come  from  your  father's 
funeral." 

Cyrillon  bowed  gravely,  and  remained  silent. 

"  I  have  followed  you,"  pursued  Monsieur  Petitot  affa- 
bly, "  as  soon  as  I  could,  according  to  the  instructions  I 
received,  to  ask  when  it  will  be  convenient  for  you  to  hear 
me  read  your  father's  will  ?  " 

The  young  man  started. 

"  His  will !  "  he  ejaculated.  He  had  never  given  it  a 
thought. 

11  Yes.  May  I  take  a  chair  ?  There  are  only  two  in 
the  room,  I  perceive !  Thanks !  "  And  the  lawyer  sat 
down  and  began  drawing  off  his  gloves, — "  Your  father 
had  considerable  means, — though  he  parted  with  much 
that  he  might  have  kept,  through  his  extraordinary  lib- 
erality to  the  poor " 

"  God  bless  him !  "  murmured  Cyrillon. 

"  Yes — yes — no  doubt  God  \vill  bless  him !  "  said  Mon- 
sieur Petitot  amicably — "  According  to  your  way  of 
thinking,  He  ought  to  do  so.  But  personally,  I  always 
find  the  poor  extremely  ungrateful,  and  God  certainly 
does  not  bless  me  whenever  I  encourage  them  in  their 
habits  of  idleness  and  vice !  However,  that  is  not  a  ques- 
tion for  discussion  at  present.  The  immediate  point  is 
this — your  father  made  his  will  about  eighteen  months 
ago,  leaving  everything  to  you.  The  wording  of  the  will 
is  unusual,  but  he  insisted  obstinately  on  having  it  thus 
set  down — " 

Here  the  lawyer  drew  a  paper  out  of  his  pocket,  fixed 
a  pair  of  spectacles  on  his  nose,  and  studied  the  docu- 
ment intently "  Yes ! — it  reads  in  this  way ; — '  Every- 
thing of  which  I  die  possessed  to  my  son,  Cyrillon 
Vergniaud,  born  out  of  wedlock,  but  as  truly  my  son  in 
the  sight  of  God,  as  Ninette  Bernadin  was  his  mother, 
and  my  wife,  though  never  so  legalised  before  the  world, 
but  fully  acknowledged  by  me  before  God,  and  before 


492  The  Master-Christian. 

the  Church  which  I  have  served  and  disobeyed.'  A  cu- 
rious wording !  "  said  Petitot,  nodding  his  head  a  great 
many  times — "  Very  curious !  I  told  him  so — but  he 
would  have  it  his  own  way, — moreover,  I  am  instructed 
to  publish  his  will  in  any  Paris  paper  that  will  give  it  a 
place.  Now  this  clause  is  to  my  mind  exceedingly  dis- 
agreeable, and  I  wish  I  could  set  it  aside." 

"Why?"  asked  Cyrillon  quietly. 

"  My  dear  young  man !  Can  you  ask  ?  Why  emphasise 
the  fact  of  your  illegitimacy  to  the  public !  " 

"  Why  disguise  it  ?  "  returned  Cyrillon.  "  You  must 
remember  that  I  have  another  public  than  the  merely 
social, — the  people !  They  all  know  what  I  am,  and  who 
I  am.  They  have  honoured  me.  They  shall  not  despise 
,me.  And  they  would  despise  me  if  I  sought  to  hold  back 
from  them  what  my  father  bade  me  tell.  Moreover,  this 
will  gives  my  mother  the  honour  of  wifehood  in  the  sight 
of  God, — and  I  must  tell  you,  monsieur  I'avocat,  that  I 
am  one  of  those  who  care  nothing  what  the  work!  says 
so  long  as  I  stand  more  or  less  clear  with  the  world's 
Creator !  " 

His  great  dark  eyes  were  brilliant, — his  face  warm 
with  the  fire  of  his  inward  feeling.  Monsieur  Petitot 
folded  up  his  document  and  looked  at  him  with  an  amia- 
ble tolerance. 

"  Wonderful — wonderful !  "  he  said — "  But  of  course 
eccentricities  will  appear  in  the  world  occasionally ! — 
and  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  venture  to  think  that  you  are 
certainly  one  of  them.  But  I  imagine  you  have  not 
grasped  the  whole  position.  The  money — I  should  say 
the  fortune — which  your  father  has  left  to  you,  will  make 
you  a  gentleman 

He  paused,  affrighted.  Drawing  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  young  Vergniaud  confronted  him  in  haughty 
amazement. 

"  Gentleman !  "  he  cried — "  What  do  you  mean  by  the 
term?  A  loafer? — a  lounger  in  the  streets? — a  leerer  at 
women  ?  Or  a  man  who  works  for  daily  food  from  sun- 
rise to  sunset,  and  controls  his  lower  passions  by  hard 
and  honest  labour !  Gentleman  !  What  is  that  ?  Is  it  to 
live  lazily  on  the  toil  of  others,  or  to  be  up  and  working 
one's  self,  and  to  eat  no  bread  that  one  has  not  earned? 
Will  you  answer  me  ?  " 


The  Master-Christian.  493 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  must  really  excuse  me !  "  said  Pet- 
itot  nervously — "  I  am  quite  unable  to  enter  into  any  sort 
of  discussion  with  you  on  these  things !  Please  recollect 
that  my  life  as  a  lawyer,  depends  entirely  on  men's  stu- 
pidities and  hypocrisies, — if  they  all  entertained  your 
views  I  should  have  to  beg  in  the  streets,  or  seek  another 
profession.  In  my  present  business  I  should  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do.  You  perceive  the  position?  Yes,  .of 
course  you  do !  "  For  Cyrillon  with  one  of  the  quick 
changes  of  mood  habitual  to  him,  smiled,  as  his  temporary 

irritation  passed  like  a  cloud,  and  his  eyes  softened 

"  You  see,  I  am  a  machine, — educated  to  be  a  machine ; 
and  I  am  set  down  to  do  certain  machine-like  duties, 
— and  one  of  these  duties  is, — regardless  of  your  fame, 
your  eccentric  theories,  your  special  work  which  you  have 
chosen  to  make  for  yourself  in  the  world, — to  put  you  in 
possession  of  the  money  your  father  left  you " 

"  Can  you  now — at  once — "  said  Cyrillon  suddenly — 
"  give  me  enough  money  to  go  to  Rome  to-night  ?  " 

Monsieur  Petitot  stared. 

"  To  go  to  Rome  to-night  ?  "  he  echoed — "  Dear  me, 
how  very  extraordinary !  I  beg  your  pardon  !  ...  of 
course — most  certainly !  I  can  advance  you  any  sum  you 
want — would  ten  thousand  francs  suffice  ?  " 

"  Ten  thousand  francs !  "  Cyrillon  laughed.  "  I  never 
had  so  much  money  in  all  my  life !  " 

"  Xo?  Well,  I  have  not  the  notes  about  me  at  the 
moment,  but  I  will  send  you  up  that  sum  in  an  hour  if  you 
wish  it.  Your  father's  will  entitles  you  to  five  million 
francs,  so  you  see  I  am  not  in  any  way  endangering  my- 
self by  advancing  you  ten  thousand." 

Cyrillon  was  quite  silent.  The  lawyer  studied  him 
curiously,  but  could  not  determine  whether  he  was  pleased 
or  sorry  at  the  announcement  of  his  fortune.  His  hand- 
some face  was  pale  and  grave, — and  after  a  pause  he  said 
simply — 

;'  Thank  you !  Then  I  can  go  to  Rome.  If  you  will 
send  me  the  money  you  speak  of  I  shall  be  glad,  as  it  will 
enable  me  to  start  to-night.  For  the  rest, — kindly 
publish  my  father's  will  as  he  instructed  you  to  do, — 
and  I — when  I  return  to  Paris,  will  consult  you 
on  the  best  way  in  which  I  can  dispose  of  my  father's 
millions." 


494  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Dispose  of  them!  "  began  Petitot  amazedly.  Young 
Vergniaud  interrupted  him  by  a  slight  gesture. 

"  Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  if  I  ask  you  to  conclude  this 
interview !  For  the  present,  I  want  nothing  else  in  the 
world  but  to  get  to  Rome  as  quickly  as  possible !— apres 
c,a,  le  deluge  !  " 

He  smiled — but  his  manner  was  that  of  some  great 
French  noble  who  gently  yet  firmly  dismisses  the  atten- 
tions of  a  too-officious  servant, — and  Petitot,  much  to  his 
own  surprise,  found  himself  bowing  low,  and  scrambling 
out  of  the  poorly  furnished  room  in  as  much  embarrass- 
ment as  though  he  had  accidentally  stumbled  into  a  palace 
where  his  presence  was  not  required. 

And  Cyrillon,  left  to  himself,  gathered  up  all  the  coins 
he  had  been  counting  out  previous  to  the  lawyer's  arrival, 
and  tied  them  again  together  in  the  old  leathern  bag ;  then 
having  closed  and  strapped  his  little  travelling  valise,  sat 
down  and  waited.  Punctually  to  the  time  indicated,  that 
is  to  say,  in  one  hour  from  the  moment  Petitot  had  con- 
cluded his  interview  with  the  celebrated  personage  whom 
he  now  mentally  called  "  an  impossible  young  man,"  a 
clerk  arrived  bringing  the  ten  thousand  francs  promised. 
He  counted  the  notes  out  carefully, — Cyrillon  watching 
him  quietly  the  while,  and  taking  sympathetic  observation 
of  his  shabby  appearance,  his  thread-bare  coat,  and  his 
general  expression  of  pinched  and  anxious  poverty. 

"  You  will  perceive  it  is  all  right,  Monsieur,"  he  said 
humbly,  as  he  finished  counting. 

"What  are  you,  mon  ami?"  asked  Cyrillon;  scarcely 
glancing  at  the  notes  but  fixing  a  searching  glance  on  the 
messenger  who  had  brought  them. 

"  I  ?  "  and  the  clerk  coughed  nervously  and  blushed, — 
"  Oh,  I  am  nothing,  Monsieur !  I  am  Monsieur  Petitot's 
clerk,  that  is  all !  " 

"And  does  he  pay  you  well?" 

"  Thirty  francs  a  week,  Monsieur.  It  is  not  bad, — 
only  this — I  was  young  a  few  years  ago,  and  I  married — 
and  two  dear  little  ones  came — so  it  is  a  pull  at  times 
to  .make  everything  go  as  it  should — not  that  I  am  sorry 
for  myself  at  all,  oh  no!  For  I  am  well  off  as  the  peo- 
pie  go- 

Cyrillon  interrupted  him. 

"  Yes — as  the  people  go !     That  is  what  you  all  say, 


The  Master-Christian.  495 

you  patient,  brave  souls!  See  you,  my  friend,  I  do  not 
want  all  this  money — "  and  he  took  up  a  note  for  five 
hundred  francs — "  Take  this  and  make  the  wife  and  little 
ones  happy !  " 

"  [Monsieur!  "  stammered  the  astonished  clerk — "  How 
can  I  dare !  " 

"  Dare !  Nay,  there  is  no  daring  in  freely  taking  what 
your  brother  freely  gives  you !  You  must  let  me  practise 
what  I  preach,  my  friend,  otherwise  I  am  only  a  fraud 
and  unfit  to  live.  God  keep  you !  " 

The  clerk  still  stood  trembling,  afraid  to  take  up  the 
note,  and  unable  through  emotion  to  speak  a  word,  even 
of  thanks.  Upon  which,  Cyrillon  folded  up  the  note  and 
put  it  himself  in  the  man's  pocket. 

"  There ! — go  and  make  happiness  with  that  bit  of 
paper !  "  he  said — "  Who  can  tell  through  what  dirty 
usurer's  hand  it  has  been,  carrying  curses  with  it  per- 
chance on  its  way !  Use  it  now  for  the  comfort  of  a 
woman  and  her  little  children,  and  perhaps  it  will  bring 
blessing  to  a  living  man  as  well  as  to  a  departed  soul !  " 

And  he  literally  put  the  poor  stupefied  fellow  outside 
his  door,  shutting  it  gently  upon  him. 

That  night  he  left  for  Rome.  And  as  the  express  tore 
its  grinding  way  along  over  the  iron  rails  towards  the 
south,  he  repeated  to  himself  over  and  over  again  as  in  a 
dream — 

"  No — Angela  Sovrani  is  not  dead !  She  cannot  be 
dead !  God  is  too  good  for  that.  He  will  not  let  her  die 
before  she  knows before  she  knows  I  love  her !  " 


XXXIII. 

THE  chain  of  circumstance  had  lengthened  by  several 
links  round  the  radiant  life  of  Sylvie  Hermenstein  since 
that  bright  winter  morning  when  she  had  been  startled 
out  of  her  reverie,  in  the  gardens  of  the  Villa  Borghese, 
by  the  unexpected  appearance  of  Monsignor  Gherardi. 
The  untimely  deaths  of  the  Marquis  Fontenelle  and  the 
actor  Miraudin  in  the  duel  over  her  name,  had  caused  so 
much  malicious  and  cruel  gossip,  that  she  had  withdrawn 
herself  almost  entirely  from  Roman  society,  which  had, 
with  one  venomous  consent,  declared  that  she  was  only 
marrying  Aubrey  Leigh  to  shield  herself  from  her 
esclandre  with  the  late  Marquis.  And  then  the  murder- 
ous attack  on  her  friend  Angela  Sovrani,  which  occurred 
almost  immediately  after  her  engagement  to  Aubrey  was 
announced,  had  occupied  all  her  thoughts — so  that  she 
had  almost  forgotten  the  promise  she  had  made  to  grant 
a  private  interview  to  Gherardi  whenever  he  should  seek 
it.  And  she  was  not  a  little  vexed  one  morning  when 
she  was  talking  to  her  betrothed  concerning  the  plans 
which  were  now  in  progress  for  their  going  to  England  as 
soon  as  possible,  to  receive  a  note  reminding  her  of  that 
promise,  and  requesting  permission  to  call  upon  her  that 
very  afternoon. 

"  How  very  unfortunate  and  tiresome !  "  said  Sylvie, 
with  a  charming  pout  and  upward  look  at  her  lover,  who 
promptly  kissed  the  lips  that  made  such  a  pretty  curve  of 
disdain — "  I  suppose  he  wants  to  give  me  a  serious  lecture 
on  the  responsibilities  of  marriage !  Shall  I  receive  him, 
Aubiey?  I  remember  when  I  met  him  last  that  he  had 
something  important  to  say  about  Cardinal  Bonpre." 

"  Then  you  must  certainly  give  him  an  audience,"  an- 
swered Aubrey — "  You  may  perhaps  find  out  what  has 
happened  to  bring  the  good  Cardinal  into  disfavour  at  the 
Vatican,  for  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  is  extremely  wor- 
ried and  anxious.  He  is  strongly  desirous  of  leaving 
Rome  at  once  with  that  gentle  lad  Manuel,  who,  from  all 

496 


The  Master-Christian.  497 

I  can  gather,  has  said  something  to  displease  the  Pope. 
Angela  is  out  of  danger  now — and  I  am  trying  to  per- 
suade the  Cardinal  to  accompany  us  to  England,  and  be 
present  at  our  marriage." 

"  That  would  be  delightful !  "  said  Sylvie  with  a  smile, 
— "  But  my  Aubrey,  where  are  we  going  to  be  married  ?  " 

"In  England,  as  I  said — not  here !  "  said  Aubrey  firmly 
— "  Xot  here,  where  evil  tongues  have  spoken  lies  against 
my  darling !  "  He  drew  her  into  his  arms  and  looked  at 
her  fondly.  "  I  want  you  to  start  for  England  soon,  Syl- 
vie— and  if  possible,  I  should  like  you  to  go,  not  only 
with  the  faithful  Bozier,  but  also  in  the  care  of  the  Car- 
dinal. I  will  precede  you  by  some  days,  and  arrange 
everything  for  your  reception.  And  then  we  will  be 
married in  my  way !  " 

Sylvie  said  nothing — she  merely  nestled  like  a  dove  in 
the  arms  of  her  betrothed,  and  seemed  quite  content  to 
accept  whatever  ordinance  he  laid  down  for  the  ruling  of 
her  fate. 

"  I  think  you  must  see  Gherardi,"  he  resumed — "  Write 
a  line  and  say  you  will  be  happy  to  receive  him  at  the 
hour  he  appoints." 

Sylvie  obeyed — and  despatched  the  note  at  once  to  the 
Vatican  by  her  man-servant. 

Aubrey  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  I  wonder Sylvie,  I  wonder "  he  began,  and 

then  stopped. 

She  met  his  earnest  eyes  with  a  smile  in  her  own. 

"  You  wonder  what,  caro  miof"  she  enquired. 

"  I  wonder  whether  you  could  endure  a  very  great  trial 
— or  make  a  very  great  sacrifice  for  my  sake !  "  he  said, 
— then  as  he  saw  her  expression,  he  took  her  little  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

"  There !  Forgive  me !  Of  course  you  would ! — only 
you  look  such  a  slight  thing — such  a  soft  flower  of  a 
woman — like  a  rose-bud  to  be  worn  next  the  heart  al- 
ways— that  it  seems  difficult  to  picture  you  as  an  inflexible 
heroine  under  trying  circumstances.  Yet  of  course  you 
would  be." 

"  I  make  no  boast,  my  Aubrey!  "  she  said  gently. 

He  kissed  her  tenderly, — reverently, — studying  her 
sweet  eyes  and  delicate  colouring  r/ith  all  the  fond  scru- 
tiny of  a  love  which  cannot  tire  of  the  thing  it  loves. 


498 


The  Master-Christian. 


"Are  you  going  round  to  see  Angela  this  morning?" 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  always  go.  She  is  much  better — she  sits  up  a 
little  every  day  now." 

"  She  says  nothing  of  her  assassin  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     But  I  know  him !  " 

"  We  all  know  him !  "  said  Aubrey  sternly — "  But  she 
will  never  speak — she  will  never  let  the  world  know !  " 

"  Ah,  but  the  world  will  soon  guess ! "  said  Sylvie — 
"  For  everyone  is  beginning  to  ask  where  her  fiance  is — 
why  he  has  shown  no  anxiety — why  he  has  not  been  to 
see  her — and  a  thousand  other  questions." 

"  That  does  not  matter !  While  she  is  silent,  no  one 
dare  accuse  him.  What  a  marvellous  spirit  of  patience 
and  forgiveness  she  has !  " 

"  Angela  is  like  her  name — an  angel !  "  declared  Sylvie 
impulsively,  the  tears  springing  to  her  eyes — "  I  could 
almost  worship  her,  when  I  see  her  there  in  her  sick- 
room, looking  so  white  and  frail  and  sad, — quiet  and  pa- 
tient— thanking  us  all  for  every  little  service  done — and 
never  once  rr^ntioning  the  name  of  Florian — the  man  she 
loved  so  passionately.  Sometimes  the  dear  old  Cardinal 
sits  beside  her  and  talks — sometimes  her  father, — 
Manuel  is  nearly  always  with  her,  and  she  is  quite  easy 
and  content,  one  would  almost  say  happy  when  he  is 
there,  he  is  so  very  gentle  with  her.  But  you  can  see 
through  it  all  the  awful  sorrow  that  weighs  upon  her 
heart, — you  can  see  she  has  lost  something  she  can  never 
find  again, — her  eyes  look  so  wistful — her  smile  is  so  sad 
— poor  Angela !  " 

Aubrey  was  silent  a  moment.  "  What  of  the  Princesse 
D'Agramont  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  is  simply  a  treasure !  "  said  Sylvie  enthu- 
siastically— "  She  and  my  dear  old  Bozier  are  never  weary 
in  well-doing!  As  soon  as  Angela  can  be  moved,  the 
Princesse  wants  to  take  her  back  to  Paris, — because  then 
Rome  can  be  allowed  to  pour  into  her  studio  to  see  her 
great  picture." 

"  What  does  Angela  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Angela  seems  resigned  to  anything !  "  answered  Syl- 
vie. "  The  only  wish  she  ever  expresses  is  that  Manuel 
should  not  leave  her." 

"  There  is  something  wonderful  about  that  boy,"  said 


The  Master-Christian.  499 

Aubrey  slowly — "  From  the  first  time  I  saw  him  he  im- 
pressed me  with  a  sense  of  something  altogether  beyond 
his  mere  appearance.  He  is  a  child — yet  not  a  child — 
and  I  have  often  felt  that  he  commands  me  without  my 
realising  that  I  am  so  commanded." 

"  Aubrey !    How  strange !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  strange ! — "  and  Aubrey's  eyes  grew  graver 
with  the  intensity  of  his  thought — "  There  is  some  secret 

. — but "  he  broke  off  with  a  puzzled  air "  I  cannot 

explain  it,  so  it  is  no  use  thinking  about  it!  I  went  to 
Varillo's  studio  yesterday  and  asked  if  there  had  been 
any  news  of  him — but  there  was  none.  I  wonder  where 
the  brute  has  gone !  " 

"  It  would  be  well  if  he  had  made  exit  out  of  the  world 
altogether,"  said  Sylvie — "  But  he  is  too  vain  of  himself 
for  that !  However,  his  absence  creates  suspicion — and 
even  if  Angela  does  not  speak,  people  will  guess  for  them- 
selves what  she  does  not  say.  He  will  never  dare  to  show 
himself  in  Rome !  " 

Their  conversation  was  abruptly  terminated  here  by  the 
entrance  of  Madame  Bozier  with  a  quantity  of  fresh 
flowers  which  she  had  been  out  to  purchase,  for  Sylvie  to 
take  as  usual  on  her  morning  visit  to  her  suffering  friend ; 
and  Aubrey  took  his  leave,  promising  to  return  later  in 
the  afternoon,  after  Monsignor  Gherardi  had  been  and 
gone. 

But  he  had  his  own  ideas  on  the  subject  of  Gherardi's 
visit  to  his  fair  betrothed, — ideas  which  he  kept  to  himself, 
for  if  his  surmises  were  correct,  now  was  the  time  to  put 
Sylvie's  character  to  the  test.  He  did  not  doubt  her  sta- 
bility in  the  very  least,  but  he  could  never  quite  get  away 
from  her  inignonne  child-like  appearance  of  woman,  to 
the  contemplation  of  the  spirit  behind  the  pretty  exterior. 
Her  beauty  was  so  riant e,  so  dazzling,  so  dainty,  that  it 
seemed  to  fire  the  very  air  as  a  sunbeam  fires  it, — and 
there  was  no  room  for  any  more  serious  consideration 
than  that  of  purely  feminine  charm.  Walking  dreamily, 
almost  unseeingly  through  the  streets,  he  thought  again 
and  yet  again  of  the  sweet  face,  the  rippling  hair,  the 
laughing  yet  tender  eyes,  the  sunny  smile.  Behind  that 
beautiful  picture  or  earth-phantom  of  womanhood,  is  there 
that  sword  of  flame,  the  soul? — the  soul  that  will  sweep 
through  shams,  and  come  out  as  bright  and  glittering  at 


500  The  Master-Christian. 

the  end  of  the  fight  as  at  the  beginning? — he  mused; — 
or  is  it  not  almost  too  much  to  expect  of  a  mere  woman 
that  she  can  contend  against  the  anger  of  a  Church? 

He  was  still  thinking  on  this  subject,  when  someone 
walking  quickly  came  face  to  face  with  him,  and  said — 

"  Aubrey !  "  He  started  and  stared, — then  uttered  a 
cry  of  pleasure. 

"  Gys  Grandit !  " 

The  two  men  clasped  each  other's  hands  in  a  warm, 
strong  grasp — and  for  a  moment  neither  could  speak. 

"  My  dear  fellow!  "  said  Aubrey  at  last — ;<  This  is  in- 
deed an  unexpected  meeting !  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you ! 
When  did  you  arrive  in  Rome  ?  " 

"  This  morning  only,"  said  Cyrillon,  recovering  his 
speech  and  his  equanimity  together — "  And  as  soon  as  I 
arrived,  I  found  that  my  hopes  had  not  betrayed  me — 
she  is  not  dead  !  " 

"  She  ?  "  Aubrey  started "  My  dear  Grandit !  Or 

rather  I  must  call  you  Vergniaud  now who  is  the 

triumphant  '  she  '  that  has  brought  you  thus  post  haste  to 
Rome?" 

Cyrillon  flushed — then  grew  pale. 

"  I  should  not  have  spoken !  "  he  said — "  And  yet, 
why  not!  You  were  my  first  friend! — you  found  me 
working  in  the  fields,  a  peasant  lad,  untrained  and  sullen, 
burning  up  my  soul  with  passionate  thoughts  which,  but 
for  you,  might  never  have  blossomed  into  action, — you 
rescued  me — you  made  me  all  I  am!  So  why  should  I 
not  confess  to  you  at  once  that  there  is  a  woman  I  love ! 
— yes,  love  with  all  my  soul,  though  I  have  seen  her  but 
once ! — and  she  is  too  far  off,  too  fair  and  great  for  me ; 

she  does  not  know  I  love  her but  I  heard  she  had 

been  murdered that  she  was  dead " 

"  Angela  Sovrani !  "  cried  Aubrey. 

Cyrillon  bent  his  head  as  a  devotee  might  at  the  shrine 
of  a  saint. 

"  Yes — Angela  Sovrani !  " 

Aubrey  looked  at  his  handsome  face  glowing  with  en- 
thusiasm, and  saw  the  passion,  the  tenderness,  the  devo- 
tion of  a  life  flashing  in  his  fine  eyes. 

"  Love  at  first  sight !  "  he  said  with  a  smile — "  I  believe 
it  is  the  only  true  fire !  A  glance  ought  to  be  enough  to 
express  the  recognition  of  one  soul  to  its  mate.  Well ! 


The  Master-Christian.  501 

Angela  Sovrani  is  a  woman  among  ten  thousand — the 
love  of  her  alone  is  sufficient  to  make  a  man  better  and 
nobler  in  every  way — and  if  you  can  win  her- 


Ah,  that  is  impossible !    She  is  already  affianced " 

Aubrey  took  his  arm. 

"  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know,"  he 
said —  "  For  there  is  much  to  say, — and  when  you  have 
heard  everything,  you  may  not  be  altogether  without 
hope." 

They  turned,  and  went  towards  the  Corso,  which  they 
presently  entered,  and  where  numbers  of  passers-by 
paused  involuntarily  to  look  at  the  two  men  who  offered 
such  a  marked  contrast  to  each  other, — the  one  brown- 
haired  and  lithe,  with  dark,  eager  eyes, — the  other  with 
the  slim  well  set  up  figure  of  an  athlete,  and  the  fair  head 
of  a  Saxon  king.  And  of  the  many  who  so  looked  after 
them,  none  guessed  that  the  one  was  destined  in  a  few 
years'  time  to  create  a  silent  and  bloodless  French  Revo- 
lution, which  should  give  back  to  France  her  white  lilies 
of  faith  and  chivalry, — or  that  the  other  was  the  upholder 
of  such  a  perfect  form  of  Christianity  as  should  soon  com- 
mand the  following  of  thousands  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 

And  while  they  thus  walked  through  the  Roman  crowd, 
the  two  women  they  severally  loved  were  talking  of  them. 
In  Angela's  sick-room,  softly  shaded  from  the  light,  with 
a  cheery  wood  fire  burning,  Sylvie  sat  by  her  friend,  tell- 
ing her  all  she  could  think  of  that  would  interest  her,  and 
rouse  her  from  the  deep  gravity  of  mood  in  which  she 
nearly  always  found  her.  The  weary  days  of  pain  and 
illness  had  given  Angela  a  strange,  new  beauty, — her  face, 
delicate  and  pale,  seemed  transfigured  by  the  working  of 
the  soul  within, — and  her  eyes,  tired  as  they  were  and 
often  heavy  with  tears,  had  a  serenity  in  their  depths 
which  was  not  of  earth,  but  all  of  Heaven.  She  was 
able  now  to  move  from  her  bed,  and  lie  on  a  couch  near  the 
fire, — and  her  little  white  hands  moved  caressingly  and 
with  loving  care  among  the  bunches  of  beautiful  flowers 
which  Sylvie  had  laid  on  her  coverlet, — daffodils,  anem- 
ones, narcissi,  violets,  jonquils,  and  all  the  sweet-scented 
flowers  of  early  spring  which  come  to  Rome  in  Decem- 
ber from  the  blossoming  fields  of  Sicily. 

"  How  sweet  they  are !  "  she  said  with  a  half  sigh, — • 
'  They  almost  make  me  in  love  with  life  again !  " 


502  The  Master-Christian. 

Sylvie  said  nothing,  but  only  kissed  her. 

"  How  good  you  are  to  me,  dearest  Sylvie !  "  she  then 
said — "  You  deserve  to  be  very  happy !  " 

"  Not  half  so  much  as  you  do !  "  responded  Sylvie  ten- 
derly— "  I  am  of  no  use  at  all  to  the  world ;  and  you  are ! 
The  world  would  not  miss  me  a  bit,  but  it  would  not  find 
an  Angela  Sovrani  again  in  a  hurry !  " 

Angela  raised  a  cluster  of  narcissi  and  inhaled  their  fine 
and  delicate  perfume.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  but 
she  hid  them  with  a  spray  of  the  flowers. 

"  Ah,  Sylvie,  you  think  too  well  of  me !  To  be  famous 
is  nothing.  To  be  loved  is  everything !  " 

Sylvie  looked  at  her  earnestly. 

"  You  are  loved,"  she  said. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  said — "  No,  I  am  not  loved.  I  am 
hated !  Hush,  Sylvie ! — do  not  say  one  word  of  what  is 
in  your  mind,  for  I  will  not  hear  it ! " 

She  spoke  agitatedly,  and  her  cheeks  flushed  a  sudden 
feverish  red. 

Sylvie  made  haste  to  try  and  soothe  her. 

"  My  darling  girl,  I  would  not  say  anything  to  vex  you 
for  the  world !  You  must  not  excite  yourself — 

"  I  am  not  excited,"  said  Angela,  putting  her  arms 
round  her  friend  and  drawing  her  fair  head  down  till  it 

was  half  hidden  against  her  own  bosom — "  No but  I 

must  speak — bear  with  me  for  a  minute,  dear!  We  all 
have  our  dreams,  we  women,  and  I  have  had  mine !  I 
dreamt  there  was  such  a  beautiful  thing  in  the  world 
as  a  great,  unselfish  love, — I  fancied  that  a  woman,  if 
gifted  wyith  a  little  power  and  ability  above  the  rest  of 
her  sex,  could  make  the  man  she  loved  proud  of  her — 
not  jealous ! — I  thought  that  a  lover  delighted  in  the  at- 
tainments of  his  beloved 1  thought  there  was  nothing 

too  high,  too  great,  too  glorious  to  attempt  for  the  sake 
of  proving  oneself  worthy  to  be  loved !  And  now — I 
have  found  out  the  truth,  Sylvie! — a  bitter  truth,  but  no 
doubt  good  for  me  to  know, — that  men  will  kill  what  they 
once  caressed  out  of  a  mere  grudge  of  the  passing  breath 
called  Fame !  Thus,  Love  is  not  what  I  dreamed  it ;  and 
I,  who  was  so  foolishly  glad  to  think  that  I  was  loved, 
have  wakened  up  to  know  that  I  am  hated ! — hated  to  the 
very  extremity  of  hate,  for  a  poor  gift  of  brain  and  hand 
which  I  wish — I  wish  I  had  never  had !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  503 

Sylvie  raised  her  head  and  gently  put  aside  the  weak 
trembling  little  hands  that  embraced  her. 

"  Angela,  Angela !  You  must  not  scorn  the  gifts  of 
the  gods !  Xo,  No ! — you  will  not  let  me  say  anything — 
you  forbid  me  to  express  my  thoughts  fully,  and  I  know 

you  are  not  well  enough  to  hear  me  yet but  one  day 

you  will  know ! — you  will  hear, — you  will  even  be  thank- 
ful for  all  the  sorrow  you  have  passed  through, — and 
meanwhile,  dear,  dearest  Angela,  do  not  be  ungrateful !  " 

She  said  the  word  boldly  yet  hesitatingly,  bending  over 
the  couch  tenderly,  her  eyes  full  of  light,  and  a  smile  on 
her  lips.  And  taking  up  a  knot  of  daffodils  she  swept 
their  cool  blossoms  softly  across  Angela's  burning  fore- 
head, murmuring — 

"  Do  not  be  ungrateful !  " 

"Ungrateful !"  echoed  Angela, — and  she  moved 

restlessly. 

"  Yes,  darling !  Do  not  say  you  wish  you  never  had 
received  the  great  gifts  God  has  given  you.  Do  not  judge 
of  things  by  Sorrow's  measurement  only.  I  repeat — you 
are  loved — though  not  perhaps  where  you  most  relied  on 

love.  Your  father  loves  you — your  uncle  loves  you 

Manuel  loves  you  .  .  .  ' 

Angela  interrupted  her  with  a  protesting  gesture. 

"  Yes — I  know,"  she  murmured,  "  but " 

"  But  you  think  all  this  love  is  worthless,  as  compared 
with  a  love  that  was  no  love  at  all  ?  "  said  Sylvie.  "  There ! 
We  will  not  speak  about  it  any  more  just  now, — you  are 
not  strong,  and  you  see  things  in  their  darkest  light. 
Shall  I  talk  to  you  about  Aubrey  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  That  is  a  subject  you  are  never  tired  of !  "  said 
Angela  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Nor  am  I." 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  be,"  answered  Sylvie  gaily,  ''  for 
I  am  too  blindly,  hopelessly  in  love  to  know  when  to 
stop !  I  see  nothing  else  and  know  nothing  else — it  is 
Aubrey,  Aubrey  all  the  time.  The  air,  the  sunlight,  the 
whole  world,  seem  only  an  admirable  exposition  of  Au- 
brey !  " 

'''  Then  how  would  you  feel  if  he  did  not  love  you  any 
more?"  asked  Angela. 

"  But  that  is  not  possible !  "  said  Sylvie.  "  Aubrey 
could  not  change.  It  is  not  in  him.  He  is  not  like  our 
poor  friend  Fontenelle." 


504  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Ah  !    That  love  of  yours  was  only  fancy,  Sylvie !  " 

"  We  all  have  our  fancies !  "  answered  the  pretty  Com- 

tesse,  looking  very  earnestly  into  Angela's  eyes.    "  We  are 

not  always  sure  that  what  we  first  call  love  is  love.     But 

I  had  much  more  than  a  fancy  for  the  Marquis  Fontenelle. 

If  he  had  loved  me — as  I  think  he  did  at  the  last 1 

should  certainly  have  married  him.  But  during  all  the 
time  I  knew  him  he  had  a  way  of  relegating  all  women 
to  the  same  level — servants,  actresses,  ballet-dancers,  and 
ladies  alike, — he  would  never  admit  that  there  is  as  much 
difference  between  one  woman  and  another  as  between 
one  man  and  another.  And  this  is  a  mistake  many  men 
make.  Fontenelle  wished  to  treat  me  as  Miraudin  would 
have  treated  his  'leading  lady'; — he  judged  that  quite 
sufficient  for  happiness.  Now  Aubrey  treats  me  as  his 
comrade, — his  friend  as  well  as  his  love,  and  that  makes 
our  confidence  perfect.  By  the  way,  he  spoke  to  me  a 
great  deal  yesterday  about  the  Abbe  Vergniaud,  and  told 
me  all  he  knew  about  his  son  Cyrillon." 

"  Ah,  the  poor  Abbe !  "  said  Angela.  "  They  are  angry 
with  him  still  at  the  Vatican — angry  now  with  his  dead 
body !  But  '  Gys  Grandit '  is  not  of  the  Catholic  faith, 
so  they  can  do  nothing  with  him." 

"  No.  He  is  what  they  call  a  '  free-lance,'  "  said  Syl- 
vie. "  And  a  wonderful  personage  he  is !  You  have 
seen  him  ?  " 

A  faint  colour  crept  over  Angela's  pale  cheeks.      / 

"  Yes.  Once.  Just  once,  in  Paris,  on  the  day  his 
father  publicly  acknowledged  him.  But  I  wrote*  to  him 
long  before  I  knew  who  he  really  was." 

"  Angela !     You  wrote  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  admired  the  writings  of  Gys  Grandit — I  used 
to  buy  all  his  books  as  they  came  out,  and  study  them.  I 
.wrote  to  him — as  many  people  will  write  to  a  favourite 
author — not  in  my  own  name  of  course — to  express  my 
admiration,  and  he  answered.  And  so  we  corresponded 
for  about  two  years,  not  knowing  each  other's  identity  till 
that  scene  in  Paris  brought  us  together — 

"  How  very  curious, — ve — ryj  "  said  Sylvie,  with  a  lit- 
tle mischievous  smile.  "  And  so  you  are  quite  friends  ?  " 

"I  think  so — I  believe  so — "  answered  Angela — "but 
since  we  met,  he  has  ceased  to  write  to  me." 

Svlvie  made  a  mental  note  of  that  fact  in  her  own 


The  Master-Christian.  505 

mind,  very  much  to  the  credit  of  "  Gys  Grandit,"  but 
said  nothing  further  on  the  subject.  Time  was  hastening 
on,  and  she  had  to  return  to  the  Casa  D'Angeli  to  receive 
Monsignor  Gherardi. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  lectured  I  suppose,"  she  said  laugh- 
ingly. "  I  have  not  seen  the  worthy  Domenico  since  my 
engagement  to  Aubrey  was  announced ! " 

Angela  looked  at  her  intently. 

"Are  you  at  all  prepared  for  what  he  will  say?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.     What  can  he  say  ?  " 

"  Much  that  may  vex  you,"  said  Angela.  "  Consider- 
ing Aubrey  Leigh's  theories,  he  may  perhaps  reproach 
you  for  your  intended  marriage — or  he  may  bring  you 
information  of  the  Pope's  objection." 

"  Well !    What  of  that  ?  "  demanded  Sylvie. 

"  But  you  are  a  devout  Catholic " 

"  And  you  ?  With  a  great  Cardinal  for  your  uncle  you 
paint  '  The  Coming  of  Christ ' !  Ah ! — I  have  seen  that 
picture,  Angela !  " 

"  But  I  am  different, — I  am  a  worker,  and  I  fear  noth- 
ing," said  Angela,  her  eyes  beginning  to  shine  with  the 
latent  force  in  her  that  was  gradually  resuming  its  do- 
minion over  her  soul — "  I  thought  long  and  deeply  before 
I  put  my  thought  into  shape " 

"  And  /  thought  long  and  deeply  before  I  decided  to 
be  the  companion  of  Aubrey's  life  and  work !  "  said  Syl- 
vie resolutely.  "  And  neither  the  Pope  or  a  whole  college 
of  Cardinals  will  change  my  love  or  prevent  my  marriage. 
A  river derci!" 

"A  riverderci!"  echoed  Angela,  raising  herself  a  little 
to  receive  the  kiss  her  friend  tenderly  pressed  on  her 
cheeks.  "  I  shall  be  anxious  to  know  the  result  of  your 
interview !  " 

"  I  will  come  round  early  to-morrow  and  tell  you  all," 
promised  Sylvie,  "  for  I  mean  to  find  out,  if  I  can,  what 
happened  at  the  Vatican  when  Cardinal  Bonpre  last  went 
there  with  Avlanuel." 

"  My  uncle  is  most  anxious  to  leave  Rome,"  said  An- 
gela musingly. 

"  I  know.  And  if  there  is  any  plot  against  him  he 
must  leave  Rome — he  shall  leave  it!  And  we  will  help 
him  i  " 

With  that  she  went  her  way,  and  an  hour  or  so  later 


506 


The  Master-Christian. 


stood,  a  perfect  picture  of  grace  and  beauty,  in  the  grand 
old  rooms  of  the  Casa  D'Angeli,  waiting  to  receive  Gher- 
ardi.  She  had  taken  more  than  the  usual  pains  with  her 
toilette  this  afternoon,  and  had  chosen  to  wear  a  "  crea- 
tion "  of  wonderful  old  lace,  with  knots  of  primrose  and 
violet  velvet  caught  here  and  there  among  its  folds.  It 
suited  her  small  lissom  figure  to  perfection,  and  her  only 
ornaments  were  a  cluster  of  fresh  violets,  and  one  ring 
sparkling  on  her  left  hand, — a  star  of  rose  brilliants  and 
rubies,  the  sign  of  her  betrothal. 

Punctual  to  the  hour  appointed,  Gherardi  arrived,  and 
was  at  once  shown  into  her  presence.  There  was  a  touch 
of  aggressiveness  and  irony  in  his  manner  as  he  entered 
with  his  usual  slow  and  dignified  step,  and  though  he  en- 
deavoured to  preserve  that  suavity  and  cold  calmness  for 
which  he  was  usually  admired  and  feared  by  women,  his 
glance  was  impatient,  and  an  occasional  biting  of  his  lips 
showed  suppressed  irritation.  The  first  formal  greetings 
over,  he  said — 

"  I  have  wished  for  some  time  to  call  upon  you,  Con- 
tessa,  but  the  pressure  of  affairs  at  the  Vatican — 

He  stopped  abruptly,  looking  at  her.  How  provokingly 
pretty  she  was! — and  how  easily  indifferent  she  seemed 
to  the  authoritative  air  he  had  chosen  to  assume. 

"  I  should,  I  know,  long  ere  this  have  offered  you  my 
felicitations  on  your  approaching  marriage — 

Sylvie  smiled  bewitchingly,  and  gave  him  a  graceful 
curtsey. 

"Will  you  not  sit  down,  Monsignor?"  she  then  said. 
"  We  can  talk  more  at  our  ease,  do  you  not  think  ?  " 

She  seated  herself,  with  very  much  the  air  of  a  queen 
taking  possession  of  a  rightful  throne,  and  Gherardi 
was  vexedly  aware  that  he  had  not  by  any  means  the  full 
possession  of  his  ordinary  dignity  or  self-control.  He 
took  a  chair  opposite  to  her  and  sat  for  a  moment  per- 
plexed as  to  his  next  move.  Sylvie  did  not  help  him  at 
all.  Ruffling  the  violets  among  the  lace  at  her  neck,  she 
looked  at  him  attentively  from  under  her  long  golden- 
brown  lashes,  but  maintained  a  perfect  silence. 

"  The  news  has  been  received  by  the  Holy  Father  with 
great  pleasure,"  he  said  at  last.  "  His  special  benedic- 
tion will  grace  your  wedding-day." 

Sylvie  bent  her  head. 


The  Master-Christian  507 

"  The  Holy  Father  is  most  gracious ! "  she  replied 
quietly.  "  And  he  is  also  more  liberal  than  I  imagined,  if 
he  is  willing  to  bestow  his  special  benediction  on  my  mar- 
riage with  one  who  is  considered  a  heretic  by  the 
Church." 

He  flashed  a  keen  glance  at  her, — then  forced  a  smile. 
"  Mr.  Leigh's  heresy  is  of  the  past,"  he  said — "  We  wel- 
come him — with  you — as  one  of  us !  " 

Sylvie  wras  silent.  He  waited,  inwardly  cursing  her 
tranquillity.  Then,  as  she  still  did  not  speak,  he  went  on 
in  smooth  accents — 

'  The  Church  pardons  all  who  truly  repent.  She  wel- 
comes all  who  come  to  her  in  confidence,  no  matter  how 
tardy  or  hesitating  their  approach.  We  shall  receive  the 
husband  of  our  daughter  Sylvie  Hermenstein,  with  such 
joy  as  the  prodigal  son  was  in  old  time  received — and  of 
his  past  mistakes  and  follies  there  shall  be  neither  word 
nor  memory !  " 

Then  Sylvie  looked  up  and  fixed  her  deep  blue  eyes 
steadily  upon  him. 

"  Caro  Monsignor!"  she  said  very  .sweetly.  "Why 
talk  all  this  nonsense  to  me?  Do  you  not  realise  that  as 
the  betrothed  wife  of  Aubrey  Leigh  I  am  past  the  Church 
counsel  or  command  ?  " 

Gherardi  still  smiled. 

"  Past  Church  counsel  or  command  ?  "  he  murmured 
with  an  indulgent  air,  as  though  he  were  talking  to  a  very 
small  child.  "  Pardon  me  if  I  am  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand  " 

"  Oh,  you  understand  very  well !  "  said  Sylvie.  "  You 
know  perfectly — or  you  should — that  a  wife's  duty  is  to 
obey  her  husband, — and  that  in  future  his  Church, — not 
yours, — must  be  hers  also." 

"  Surely  you  speak  in  riddles  ?  "  said  Gherardi,  pre- 
serving his  suave  equanimity.  "  Mr.  Leigh  is  (or 
was)  a  would-be  ardent  reformer,  but  he  has  no  real 
Church." 

:<  Then  I  have  none !  "  replied  Sylvie. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  A  black  rage  began  to 
kindle  in  Gherardi's  soul, — rage  all  the  more  intense  be- 
cause so  closely  suppressed. 

"  I  am  still  at  a  loss  to  follow  you,  Contessa,"  he  said 
coldly.  "  Surely  you  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  your 


508  The  Master-Christian. 

marriage    will    sever    you    from    the    Church    of    your 
fathers?" 

"  Monsignor,  marriage  for  me  means  an  oath  before 
God  to  take  my  husband  for  better  or  for  worse,  and  to 
be  true  to  him  under  all  trial  and  circumstances,"  said 
Sylvie.  "  And  I  assuredly  mean  to  keep  that  oath ! 
Whatever  his  form  of  faith,  I  intend  to  follow  it, — as  I 
intend  to  obey  his  commands,  whatever  they  may  be,  or 
wherever  they  may  lead.  For  this,  to  me,  is  the  only 
true  love, — this  to  me,  is  the  only  possible  '  holy  '  estate 
of  matrimony.  And  for  the  Church — a  Church  which 
does  not  hesitate  to  excommunicate  a  dying  man,  and 
persecute  a  good  one, — I  will  leave  the  possibility  of  its 
wrath,  together  with  all  other  consequences  of  my  act — 
to  God !  " 

For  one  moment  Gherardi  felt  that  he  could  have 
sprung  upon  her  and  throttled  her.  The  next,  he  had 
mastered  himself  sufficiently  to  speak, — this  woman,  so 
slight,  so  beautiful,  so  insolent  should  not  baffle  him,  he 
resolved ! — and  bending  his  dark  brows  menacingly,  he 
addressed  her  in  his  harshest  and  most  peremptory  man- 
ner. 

"  You  talk  of  God,"  he  said,  "  as  a  child  talks  of  the 
sun  and  moon,  with  as  little  meaning,  and  less  compre- 
hension !  What  impertinence  it  is  for  a  woman  like 
yourself, — vain,  weak  and  worldly, — to  assert  your  own 
will — your  own  thought  and  opinion — in  the  face  of  tha 
Most  High  !  What !  You  will  desert  the  Church  ?  You 
whose  ancestors  have  for  ages  been  devout  servants  of 
the  faith?  You,  the  last  descendant  of  the  Counts  Her- 
menstein,  a  noble  and  loyal  family,  will  degrade  your 
birth  by  taking  up  with  the  rags  and  tags  of  humanity — 
the  scarecrows  of  life?  And  by  your  sheer  stupidity  and 
obstinacy,  you  will  allow  your  husband's  soul  to  be 
dragged  to  perdition  with  your  own !  You  call  it  love — 
to  keep  him  an  infidel?  You  call  it  marriage — to  be 
united  to  him  without  the  blessings  of  Holy  Church? 
Where  is  your  reason? — Where  is  your  judgment?— 
Where  your  faith  ?  " 

"  Not  in  my  bank,  Monsignor !  "  replied  Sylvie  coldly. 
"  Though  that  is  the  place  where  you  would  naturally 
expect  to  find  these  virtues  manifested,  and  the  potency 
of  their  working  substantially  proved !  Pardon ! — I  have 


The  Master-Christian.  509 

no  wish  to  offend — but  your  manner  to  me  is  offensive, 
and  unless  you  are  disposed  to  discuss  this  matter  tem- 
perately, ^  must  close  our  interview !  " 

Gherardi  flushed  a  dark  red,  then  grew  pale.  After  all, 
the  Countess  Hermenstein  was  in  her  own  house, — she 
had  the  right  to  command  his  exit  if  she  chose.  Small  and 
slight  as  she  was,  she  had  a  dignity  and  power  as  great 
as  his  own,  and  if  anything  was  to  be  gained  from  her  it 
was  necessary  to  tempprize.  Among  many  other  quali- 
fications for  the  part  he  had  to  play  in  life,  he  was  an  ad- 
mirable actor,  and  would  have  made  his  fortune  on  the 
legitimate  stage, — and  this  "  quick  change  "  ability  served 
him  in  good  stead  now.  He  rose  from  his  chair  as  though 
moved  by  uncontrollable  agitation,  and  walked  to  the 
window,  then  turned  again  and  came  slowly  and  with 
bent  head  towards  her. 

"  Forgive  me !  "  he  said  simply.    "  I  was  wrong !  " 

Sylvie,  easily  moved  to  kindness,  was  touched  by  this 
apparent  humility  on  the  part  of  a  man  so  renowned  for 
unflinching  hauteur,  and  she  at  once  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  I  shall  forget  your  words !  "  she  said  gently.  "  So 
there  is  nothing  to  pardon." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  generosity,"  he  said,  still  stand- 
ing before  her  and  preserving  his  grave  and  quiet  de- 
meanour. "  In  my  zeal  for  Holy  Church,  my  tongue  fre- 
quently outruns  my  prudence.  I  confess  you  have  hurt 
me, — cruelly !  You  are  a  mere  child  to  me — young,  beau- 
tiful, beloved, — and  I  am  growing  old;  I  have  sacrificed 
all  the  joys  of  life  for  the  better  serving  of  the  faith — but 
I  have  kept  a  few  fair  dreams — and  one  of  the  fairest 
was  my  belief  in  you!" 

Sylvie  looked  at  him  searchingly,  but  his  eyes  did  not 
flinch  in  meeting  hers. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  disappointed,  Monsignor,"  she 
began,  when  he  raised  his  hand  deprecatingly. 

"  No — I  am  not  disappointed  as  yet !  "  he  said,  with  an 
affectation  of  great  kindness.  "  Because  I  do  not  permit 
myself  to  believe  that  you  will  allow  me  to  be  disap- 
pointed !  Just  now  you  made  a  passing  allusion — and  I 
venture  to  say  a  hasty  and  unworthy  one — to  your  '  ban'r. , 
as  if  my  whole  soul  were  set  on  retaining  you  as  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  Church  for  your  great  wealth's  sake  only ! 
Contessa,  you  are  mistaken !  Give  me  credit  for  higher 


5io  The  Master-Christian. 

and  nobler  motives!  Grant  me  the  right  to  be  a  little 
better — a  little  more  disinterested,  than  perhaps  popular 

rumour  describes  me, believe  me  to  be  at  least  your 

friend " 

He  paused — his  voice  apparently  broken  by  emotion, 
and  turning  away  his  head  he  paced  the  room  once  more 
and  finally  sat  down,  covering  his  eyes  with  one  hand, 
in  an  admirably  posed  attitude  of  fatigue  and  sorrow. 

Sylvie  was  perplexed,  and  somewhat  embarrassed.  She 
had  never  seen  him  in  this  kind  of  humour  before.  She 
was  accustomed  to  a  certain  domineering  authority  in  his 
language,  rendered  all  the  more  difficult  to  endure  by  the 
sarcasm  with  which  he  sometimes  embittered  his  words, 
as  though  he  had  dipped  them  in  gall  before  pronouncing 
them, — but  this  apparent  abandonment  of  reserve,  this 
almost  touching  assumption  of  candour,  were  phases  of 
his  histrionical  ability  which  he  had  never  till  now  dis- 
played in  her  presence. 

"  Monsignor,"  she  said  after  a  little  silence,  "  I  sin- 
cerely ask  your  pardon  if  I  have  wronged  you,  even  in  a 
thought !  I  had  no  real  intention  of  doing  so,  and  if  any- 
thing I  have  said  has  seemed  to  you  unduly  aggressive 
or  unjust,  I  am  sorry!  But  you  yourself  began  to  scold  " 
— and  she  smiled — "  and  I  am  not  in  the  humour  to  be 
scolded !  Though,  to  speak  quite  frankly,  I  have  always 
been  more  or  less  prepared  for  a  little  trouble  on  the  sub- 
ject of  my  intended  marriage  with  Mr.  Aubrey  Leigh, — 
I  have  felt  and  known  all  along  that  it  would  incur  the 
Pope's  displeasure  .  .  .  ' 

Here  Gherardi  uncovered  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her 
fully. 

"  But  there  you  are  mistaken !  "  he  said  gently,  with  a 
smile  that  was  almost  paternal.  "  I  know  of  nothing  in 
recent  years  that  has  given  the  Holy  Father  greater  sat- 
isfaction !  " 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly  but  said  nothing,  whereat 
he  was  secretly  annoyed.  Why  did  she  not  express  her 
wonder  and  delight  at  the  Pope's  lenity,  as  almost  any 
other  woman  in  her  position  would  have  done  ?  Her  out- 
ward appearance  was  that  of  child-like  ultra-femininity, 
— how  was  it  then  that  he  felt  as  if  she  were  mentally 
fencing  with  him,  and  that  her  intellectual  sword-play 
threatened  to  surpass  his  own? 


The  Master-Christian.  51 1 

"  Nothing,"  he  repeated  suavely,  "  has  given  thte  Holy 
Father  greater  satisfaction !  For  very  naturally,  he  looks 
upon  you  as  one  of  his  most  faithful  children,  and  re- 
joices that  by  the  power  of  perfect  love — love  which  is 
an  emanation  of  the  Divine  Spirit  in  itself — you  have  been 
chosen  by  our  Lord  to  draw  so  gifted  and  brilliant  a  man 
as  Aubrey  Leigh  out  of  the  error  of  his  ways  and  bring 
him  into  the  true  fold ! " 


XXXIV. 

STILL  the  Countess  Sylvie  was  silent.  Bending  a  quick 
scrutinising  glance  upon  her,  he  saw  that  her  eye.,  were 
lowered,  and  that  the  violets  nestling  near  her  bosom 
moved  restlessly  with  her  quickened  breath,  and  he  judged 
these  little  signs  of  agitation  as  the  favourable  hints  of 
a  weakening  and  hesitating  will. 

"  Aubrey  Leigh,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "  has  long  been 
an  avowed  enemy  of  our  Church.  In  England  especially, 
where  many  of  the  Protestant  clergy,  repenting  of  their 
recusancy — for  Protestantism  is  nothing  more  than  a  back- 
sliding from  the  true  faith — are  desirous  of  gradually, 
through  the  gentler  forms  of  Ritualism,  returning  to  the 
Original  source  of  Divine  Inspiration,  he  has  taken  a 
great  deal  too  much  upon  himself  in  the  freedom  of  his 
speeches  to  the  people.  But  we  are  bound  to  remember 
that  it  is  not  against  our  Church  only  that  he  has  armed 
himself  at  all  points,  but  seemingly  against  all  Churches ; 
and  when  we  examine,  charitably  and  with  patience,  into 
the  sum  and  substance  of  his  work  and  aim,  we  find  its 
chief  object  is  to  purify  and  maintain — not  to  destroy  or 
deny — the  Divine  teaching  of  Christ.  In  this  desire  we 
are  one  with  him — we  are  even  willing  to  assist  him  in  the 
Cause  he  has  espoused — and  we  shall  faithfully  promise 
to  do  so,  when  we  receive  him  as  your  husband.  Nay, 
more — we  will  endeavour  to  further  his  work  among  the 
poor,  and  carry  out  any  scheme  for  their  better  care, 
which  he  may  propose  to  us,  and  we  may  judge  as  devout 
and  serviceable.  The  Church  has  wide  arms, — she 
stretches  far,  and  holds  fast !  The  very  fact  of  a  man 
like  Aubrey  Leigh  voluntarily  choosing  as  his  wife  the 
last  scion  of  one  of  the  most  staunch  Roman  Catholic 
families  in  Europe,  proves  the  salutary  and  welcome 
change  which  your  good  influence  has  brought  about  in 
his  heart  and  mind  and  manner  and  judgment, — where- 
fore it  follows,  my  dear  child,  that  in  his  marriage  with 
vou  he  becomes  one  of  us,  and  is  no  longer  outside  us ! " 


The  Master-Christian.  513 

With  a  swift  and  graceful  imperiousness,  Sylvie  sud- 
denly rose  and  faced  him. 

"  It  is  time  we  understood  each  other,  Monsignor,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  It  is  no  good  playing  at  cross  purposes ! 
With  every  respect  for  you,  I  must  speak  plainly.  I  am 
fully  aware  of  all  you  tell  me  respecting  my  descent  and 
the  traditions  of  my  ancestors.  I  know  that  the  former 
Counts  Hermenstein  were  faithful  servants  of  the  Church. 
But  they  were  all  merely  half-educated  soldiers ;  brave, 
yet  superstitious.  I  knowr  also  that  my  father,  the  late 
Count,  was  apparently  equally  loyal  to  the  Church, — 
though  really  only  so  because  it  was  too  much  trouble  for 
him  to  think  seriously  about  anything  save  hunting.  But 
I — Sylvie — the  last  of  the  race,  do  not  intend  to  be  bound 
or  commanded  by  the  trammels  of  any  Church,  in  the 
face  of  the  great  truths  declared  to  the  world  to-day !  My 
faith  in  God  is  as  my  betrothed  husband's  faith  in  God, 
— my  heart  is  his, — my  life  is  his !  From  henceforth 
we  are  together;  and  together  we  are  content  to  go, 
after  death,  wherever  God  shall  ordain,  be  it  Hell  or 
Heaven !  " 

"  \Yait !  "  said  Gherardi  in  low  fierce  accents,  his  eyes 
glittering  with  mingled  rage  and  the  admiration  of  her 
beauty  which  he  could  ill  conceal.  "  Wait !  If  you 
care  nothing  for  yourself  in  this  matter,  is  it  possible  that 
you  care  nothing  for  him?  Have  you  thought  of  the  re- 
sults of  such  rashness  as  you  meditate  ?  Listen !  "  and  he 
leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  his  dark  brows  bent  and  his 
whole  attitude  expressive  of  a  relentless  malice — "  Your 
marriage,  without  the  blessing  of  the  Church  of  your 
fathers,  shall  be  declared  illegal ! — your  children  pro- 
nounced bastards !  Wherever  the  ramifications  of  the 
Church  are  spread  (and  they  are  everywhere)  you,  the 
brilliant,  the  courted,  the  admired  Sylvie  Hermenstein, 
shall  find  yourself  not  only  outside  the  Church,  but  out- 
side all  Society !  You  will  be  considered  as  '  living  in 
sin  ' ; — as  no  true  wife,  but  merely  the  mistress  of  the 
man  with  whom  you  have  elected  to  wander  the  world ! 
And  he,  when  he  sees  the  finger  of  scorn  pointed  at  you 
and  at  his  children,  he  also  will  change — as  all  men 
change  when  change  is  convenient  or  advantageous  to 
themselves ; — he  will  in  time  weary  of  his  miserable 
Christian-Democratic  theories, — and  of  you! — yes,  even 


514  The  Master-Christian. 

of  you !  "  And  Gherardi  suddenly  sprang  up  and  drew 
nearer  to  her.  "  Even  of  you,  I  say !  He  will  weary  of 
your  beauty — that  delicate  fine  loveliness  which  makes 
me  long  to  possess  it ! — me, a  priest  of  the  Mother-Church, 
whose  heart  is  supposed  to  beat  only  for  two  things — 
Power  and  Revenge !  Listen — listen  yet  a  moment !  " 
and  he  drew  a  step  nearer,  while  Sylvie  held  her  ground 
where  she  stood,  unflinchingly,  and  like  a  queen,  though 
she  was  pale  to  the  very  lips — "  What  of  the  friend  you 
love  so  well,  Angela  Sovrani,  who  has  dared  to  paint  such 
a  picture  as  should  be  burnt  in  the  public  market-place 
for  its  vile  heresy!  Do  you  think  she  will  escape  the 
wrath  of  the  Church?  Not  she!  We  in  our  day  use 
neither  poison  nor  cold  steel — but  we  know  how  to  poison 
a  name  and  stab  a  reputation !  What !  You  shrink  at 
that  ?  Listen  yet — listen  a  moment  longer !  And  remem- 
ber that  nothing  escapes  the  vigilant  eye  of  Rome!  At 
this  very  moment  I  can  place  my  hand  on  Florian  Varillo, 
concerning  whom  there  is  a  rumour  that  he  attempted  the 
assassination  of  his  betrothed  wife, — an  inhuman  deed 
that  no  sane  man  could  ever  have  perpetrated  " — here 
Sylvie  uttered  a  slight  exclamation,  and  he  paused,  look- 
ing at  her  with  a  cold  smile — "  Yes,  I  repeat  it ! — a  deed 
which  no  sane  man  could  have  perpetrated!  The  unfor- 
tunate, the  deeply  wronged  Florian  Varillo,  is  prepared  to 
swear,  and  /  am  prepared  to  swear  with  him,  that  he  is 
guiltless  of  any  such  vile  act  or  treachery — and  also  that 
he  painted  more  than  half  of  the  great  picture  this  wo- 
man Sovrani  claims  as  her  own  work!  Whilst  strongly 
protesting  against  its  heresy  and  begging  her  to  alter 
certain  figures  in  the  canvas,  still  he  gave  her  for  love's 
sake,  all  his  masculine  ability.  The  blasphemous  idea  is 
hers — but  the  drawing,  the  colouring,  the  grouping, 
are  his!" 

"  He  is  a  liar !  "  cried  Sylvie  passionately.  "  Let  him 
prove  his  lie !  " 

"  He  shall  have  every  chance  to  prove  it !  "  answered 
Gherardi  calmly.  "  /  will  give  him  every  chance !  7 
will  support  what  you  call  his  lie!  /  say  it  is  a  truth! 
No  woman  could  have  painted  that  picture !  And  mark 
you  well — the  mere  discussion  will  be  sufficient  to  kill  the 
Sovrani's  fame !  " 

Heedless    of    his    ecclesiastical    dignity — reckless    of 


The  Master-Christian.  515 

everything  concerning  herself — Sylvie  rushed  up  to  him 
and  laid  one  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  What !  Are  you  a  servant  of  Christ,"  she  said  half- 
whisperingly,  "  or  a  slave  of  the  devil?  " 

"  Both,"  he  answered,  looking  down  upon  her  fair 
beauty  with  a  wicked  light  shining  in  his  eyes.  "  Both !  " 
and  he  grasped  the  little  soft  hand  that  lay  on  his  arm 
and  held  it  as  in  a  vice.  "  You  are  not  wanting  in  cour- 
age, Contessa,  to  come  so  close  to  me! — to  let  me  hold 
your  hand  !  How  pale  you  look !  If  you  were  like  other 
women  you  would  scream — or  summon  your  servants, 
and  create  a  scandal !  You  know  better !  You  know 
that  no  scandal  would  ever  be  believed  of  a  priest  at- 
tached to  the  Court  of  Rome!  Stay  there — where  you 
are — I  will  not  hurt  you !  No — by  all  the  raging  fire  of 
love  for  you  in  my  heart,  I  will  not  touch  more  than  this 
hand  of  yours !  Good ! — Now  you  are  quite  still — I  say 
again,  you  have  courage !  Your  eyes  do  not  flinch — they 
look  straight  into  mine — what  brave  eyes!  You  would 
search  the  very  core  of  my  intentions  ?  You  shall !  Do 
you  not  think  it  enough  for  me — who  am  human  though 
priest — to  give  you  up  to  the  possession  of  a  man  I  hate ! 

A  man  who  has  insulted  me !  Is  it  not  enough,  I  say, 

to  immolate  my  own  passion  thus,  without  having  to  con- 
front the  possibility  of  your  deserting  that  Church  for 
whose  sake  I  thus  resign  you?  For  had  this  Aubrey 
Leigh  never  met  you,  I  would  have  made  you  mine !  Still 
silent? — and  your  little  hand  still  quiet  in  mine? — I  envy 
you  your  nerve!  You  stand  torture  well,  but  I  will  not 
keep  you  on  the  rack  too  long!  You  shall  know  the 
worst  at  once — then  you  shall  yourself  judge  the  po- 
sition. You  shall  prove  for  yourself  the  power  of  Rome ! 
To  escape  that  power  you  would  have,  as  the  Scripture 
says,  to  '  take  the  wings  of  the  morning  and  fly  into  the 
uttermost  parts  of  the  sea.'  Think  well ! — the  fame  and 
reputation  of  Angela  Sovrani  can  be  ruined  at  my  com- 
mand,— and  equally,  the  sanctity  and  position  of  her 
uncle,  Cardinal  Bonpre !  " 

With  a  sudden  movement  Sylvie  wrenched  her  hand 
away  from  his,  and  stood  at  bay,  her  eyes  flashing,  her 
cheeks  crimsoning. 

"  Cardinal  Bonpre !  "  she  cried.  "  What  evil  have  you 
'n  your  mind  against  him?  Are  you  so  lost  to  every 


The  Master-Christian. 

sense  of  common  justice  as  to  attempt  to  injure  one  who 
is  greater  than  many  of  the  Church's  canonized  saints  in 
virtue  and  honesty  ?  What  has  he  done  to  you  ?  " 

Gherardi  smiled. 

"  You  excite  yourself  needlessly,  Contessa,"  he  said. 
"  He  has  done  nothing  to  me  personally, — he  is  simply  in 
my  way.  That  is  his  sole  offence !  And  whatever  is  in 
my  way,  I  remove!  Nothing  is  easier  than  to  remove 
Cardinal  Bonpre,  for  he  has,  by  his  very  simplicity,  fallen 
into  a  trap  from  which  extrication  will  be  difficult.  He 
should  have  stopped  in  his  career  with  the  performance 
of  his  miracle  at  Rouen, — then  all  would  have  been  well ; 
he  should  not  have  gone  on  to  Paris,  there  to  condone  the 
crime  of  the  Abbe  Vergniaud,  and  then  come  on  to  Rome. 
To  come  to  Rome  under  such  circumstances,  was  like 
putting  his  head  in  the  wolf's  mouth !  But  the  most  un- 
fortunate thing  he  has  done  on  his  ill-fated  journey,  is 
to  have  played  protector  to  that  boy  he  has  with  him." 

"  Why  ? ' '  demanded  Sylvie,  growing  pale  as  before 
she  had  been  flushed. 

"  Do  not  ask  why !  "  said  Gherardi.  "  For  a  true  an- 
swer would  only  anger  you.  Suffice  it  for  you  to  know 
that  whatever  is  in  the  way  of  Rome  must  be  removed, 
— shall  be  removed  at  all  costs!  Cardinal  Bonpre,  as  I 
said  before,  is  in  the  way — and  unless  he  can  account  fully 
and  frankly  for  his  strange  companionship  with  a  mere 
child-wanderer  picked  out  of  the  streets,  he  will  lose  his 
diocese.  If  he  persists  in  denying  all  knowledge  of  the 
boy's  origin  he  will  lose  his  Cardinal's  hat.  There  is 
nothing  more  to  be  said !  But — there  is  one  remedy  for 
all  this  mischief — and  it  rests  with  you! " 

"  With  me  ?  "  Sylvie  trembled, — her  heart  beat  vio- 
lently. She  looked  as  though  she  were  about  to  swoon, 
and  Gherardi  put  out  his  arm  to  support  her.  She 
pushed  him  away  indignantly. 

"  Do  not  touch  me !  "  she  said,  her  sweet  voice  shaken 
with  something  like  the  weakness  of  tears.  "  You  tempt 
me  to  kill  you, — to  kill  you  and  rid  the  world  of  a  human 
fiend !  " 

His  eyes  flashed,  and  narrowed  at  the  corners  in  the 
strange  snake-like  way  habitual  to  them. 

"  How  beautiful  you  are ! "  he  said  indulgently. 
"  There  are  some  people  in  the  world  who  do  not  admire 


The  Master-Christian.  517 

slight  little  creatures  like  you,  all  fire  and  spirit  enclosed 
in  sweetness — and  in  their  ignorance  they  escape  much 
danger  !  For  when  a  man  stoops  to  pick  up  a  small  flower 
half  hidden  in  the  long  grass,  he  does  not  expect  it  to 
half-madden  him  with  its  sweetness — or  half-murder  him 
by  its  sting!  That  is  why  you  are  irresistible  to  me,  and 
to  many.  Yes — no  doubt  you  would  like  to  kill  me,  bella 
Contessa! — and  many  a  man  would  like  to  be  killed  by 
you !  If  I  were  not  Domenico  Gherardi,  servant  of 
Mother-Church,  I  would  willingly  submit  to  death  at 
your  hands.  But  being  what  I  am,  I  must  live!  And 
living,  I  must  work — to  fulfil  the  commands  of  the 
Church.  And  so  faithful  am  I  in  the  work  of  our  Lord's 
vineyard,  that  I  care  not  how  many  grapes  I  press  in  the 
making  of  His  wine !  I  tell  you  plainly  that  it  rests  with 
you  to  save  your  friend  Angela  Sovrani,  and  the  saintly 
Cardinal  likewise.  Keep  to  the  vows  you  have  sworn  to 
Holy  Church, — vows  sworn  for  you  in  infancy  at  bap-- 
tism,  and  renewed  by  yourself  at  your  confirmation  and 
first  Communion, — bring  your  husband  to  Us!  And 
Florian  Yarillo's  mouth  shall  be  closed — the  Sovrani's 
reputation  shall  shine  like  the  sun  at  noonday;  even  the 
rank  heresy  of  her  picture  shall  be  forgiven,  and  the  Car- 
dinal and  his  waif  shall  go  free !  " 

Sylvie  clasped  her  hands  passionately  together  and 
raised  them  in  an  attitude  of  entreaty. 

"  Oh,  why  are  you  so  cruel !  "  she  cried.  "  Why  do 
you  demand  from  me  what  you  know  to  be  impossible  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  impossible,"  answered  Gherardi,  watching 
her  closely  as  he  spoke.  "  The  Church  is  lenient, — she 
demands  nothing  in  haste — nothing  unreasonable !  I  do 
not  even  ask  you  to  bring  about  Aubrey  Leigh's  conver- 
sion before  your  marriage.  You  are  free  to  wed  him  in 
your  own  way  and  in  his, — provided  that  one  ceremonial 
of  the  marriage  takes  place  according  to  our  Catholic 
rites.  But  after  you  are  thus  wedded,  you  must  promise 
to  bring  him  to  Us ! — you  must  further  promise  that  any 
children  born  of  your  union  be  baptized  in  the  Catholic 
faith.  \Yith  such  a  pledge  from  you,  in  writing,  I  will 
be  satisfied ; — and  out  of  all  the  entanglements  and  con- 
fusion at  present  existing,  your  friends  shall  escape  un- 
harmed. I  swear  it !  " 

He  raised  his  hand  with  a  lofty  gesture,  as  though  he 


518  The  Master-Christian. 

were  asserting  the  truth  and  grandeur  of  some  specially 
noble  cause.  Sylvie,  letting  her  clasped  hands  drop 
asunder  with  a  movement  of  despair,  stood  gazing  at  him 
in  fascinated  horror. 

"  The  Church !  "  he  went  on,  warming  with  his  own  in- 
ward fervour.  "  The  Rock,  on  which  our  Lord  builds 
the  real  fabric  of  the  Universe !  "  And  his  tall  form  di- 
lated with  the  utterance  of  his  blasphemy.  "  The  learn- 
ing, the  science,  the  theoretical  discussions  of  men,  shall 
pass  as  dust  blown  by  the  breath  of  a  storm-wind — but 
the  Church  shall  remain,  the  same,  yesterday,  to-day  and 
forever !  It  shall  crush  down  kings,  governments  and 
nations  in  its  unmoving  Majesty !  The  fluctuating  wis- 
dom of  authors  and  reformers — the  struggle  of  conflict- 
ing creeds — all  these  shall  sink  and  die  under  the  silent 
inflexibility  of  its  authority !  The  whole  world  hurled 
against  it  shall  not  prevail,  and  were  all  its  enemies  to 
perish  by  the  sword,  by  poison,  by  disease,  by  imprison- 
ment, by  stripes  and  torture,  this  would  be  but  even  jus- 
tice! '  For  many  are  called — but  few  are  chosen.'  ' 

He  turned  his  eyes,  flashing  with  a  sort  of  fierce 
ecstasy,  upon  the  slight  half-shrinking  figure  of  Sylvie 
opposite  to  him.  "Yes,  bella  Contessa!  What  the 
Church  ordains,  must  be;  what  the  Church  desires,  that 
same  the  Church  will  have !  There  is  no  room  in  the 
hearts  or  minds  of  its  servants  for  love,  for  pity,  for  par- 
don, for  anything  human  merely, — its  authority  is  Divine ! 
— and  '  God  will  not  be  mocked  ' !  Humanity  is  the  mere 
food  and  wine  of  sacrifice  to  the  Church's  doctrine, — na- 
tions may  starve,  but  the  Church  must  be  fed.  What  are 
nations  to  the  Church?  Naught  but  children, — docile  or 
rebellious ; — children  to  be  whipped,  and  coerced,  and 
forced  to  obey !  Thus  for  you,  one  unit  out  of  the  whole 
mass,  to  oppose  yourself  to  the  mighty  force  of  Rome, 
is  as  though  one  daisy  out  of  the  millions  in  the  grass 
should  protest  against  the  sweep  of  the  mower's  scythe! 
You  do  not  know  me  yet !  There  is  nothing  I  would 
hesitate  to  do  in  the  service  of  the  Church.  I  would 
consent  to  ruin  even  you,  to  prove  the  fire  of  my  zeal,  as 
well  as  the  fire  of  my  love !  " 

He  made  a  step  towards  her, — she  drew  herself  to  the 
utmost  reach  of  her  elfin  height,  and  looked  at  him 
straigHtly.  Pale,  but  with  her  dark  blue  eyes  flashing 


The  Master-Christian.  519 

like  jewels,  she  in  one  sweeping  glance,  measured  him 
with  a  scorn  so  intense  that  it  seemed  to  radiate  from  her 
entire  person,  and  pierce  him  with  a  thousand  arrowy 
shafts  of  flame. 

"  You  have  stated  your  intentions,"  she  said.  "  Will 
you  hear  my  answer  ?  " 

He  bent  his  head  gravely,  with  a  kind  of  ironical  tol- 
erance in  his  manner. 

"  There  is  nothing  I  desire  more !  "  he  replied,  "  for  I 
am  sure  that  in  the  unselfish  sweetness  of  your  nature  you 
will  do  all  you  can  to  serve — and  save — your  friends !  " 

"  You  are  right !  "  she  said,  controlling  the  quickness 
of  her  breathing,  and  forcing  herself  to  speak  calmly.  "  I 
will !  But  not  in  your  way !  Not  at  your  command ! 
You  have  enlightened  me  on  many  points  of  which  I  was 
hitherto  ignorant — and  for  this  I  thank  you !  You  have 
taught  me  that  the  Church,  instead  of  being  a  brother- 
hood united  in  the  Divine  service  of  Christ,  who  was 
God-in-Man,  is  a  mere  secular  system  of  avarice  and 
tyranny !  You  pretend  to  save  souls  for  God !  What 
do  you  care  for  my  soul !  You  would  have  me  wed  a 
man  with  fraud  in  my  heart, — with  the  secret  intent  to 
push  upon  him  the  claims  of  a  Church  he  abhors, — and 
this  after  he  has  made  me  his  wife !  You  would  have 
me  tell  lies  to  him  before  the  Eternal !  And  you  call 
that  the  way  to  salvation  ?  No,  Monsignor !  It  is  the 
wealth  of  the  Hermensteins  you  desire ! — not  the  im- 
mortal rescue  or  heavenly  benefit  of  the  last  of  their  chil- 
dren !  You  will  support  the  murderer  Varillo  in  his  lie 
to  ruin  an  innocent  woman's  reputation !  You  would  de- 
stroy the  honour  and  peace  of  an  old  man's  life  for  the 
sake  of  furthering  your  own  private  interests  and 
grudges !  And  you  call  yourself  a  servant  of  Christ ! 
Monsignor,  if  you  are  a  servant  of  Christ,  then  the 
Church  you  serve  must  be  the  shadow  of  a  future  hell ! 
— not  the  promise  of  a  future  heaven !  I  denounce  it, — I 
deny  it! — I  swear  by  the  Holy  Name  of  our  Redeemer 
that  I  am  a  Christian ! — not  a  slave  of  the  Church  of 
Rome !  " 

Such  passion  thrilled  her,  such  high  exaltation,  that 
she  looked  like  an  inspired  angel  in  her  beauty  and  cour- 
age, and  Gherardi,  smothering  a  fierce  oath,  made  one 
stride  towards  her  and  seized  her  hands. 


520  The  Master-Christian. 

"  You  defy  me !  "  he  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  You 
dare  me  to  my  worst  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  his  dark  cruel  face,  his  glittering  eyes, 
and  shuddered  as  with  icy  cold, — but  the  spirit  in  that 
delicate  little  body  of  hers  was  strong  as  steel,  and  tem- 
pered to  the  grandest  issues. 

"  I  dare  you  to  do  your  worst !  "  she  said,  half-sob- 
bingly, — half-closing  her  eyes  in  the  nervous  terror  she 
could  not  altogether  control.  "  You  can  but  kill  me — I 
shall  die  true !  " 

With  a  sort  of  savage  cry,  Gherardi  snatched  her 
round  the  waist,  but  scarcely  had  he  done  so  when  he 
was  flung  aside  with  a  force  that  made  him  reel  back 
heavily  against  the  wall,  and  Aubrey  Leigh  confronted 
him. 

"  Aubrey !  "  cried  Sylvie.     "  Oh,  Aubrey !  " 

He  caught  her  as  she  sprang  to  him,  and  held  her  fast, 
— and  with  perfect  self-possession  he  eyed  the  priest  dis- 
dainfully up  and  down. 

"  So  this,"  he  said  coldly,  "  is  the  way  the  followers  of 
Saint  Peter  fulfil  the  commands  of  Christ !  Or  shall  we 
say  this  is  the  way  in  which  they  go  on  denying  their 
Master?  It  is  a  strange  way  of  retaining  disciples, — 
a  still  stranger  way  of  making  converts !  A  brave  way 
too,  to  intimidate  a  woman !  " 

Gherardi,  recovering  from  the  shock  of  Aubrey's  blow, 
drew  himself  up  haughtily. 

"  I  serve  the  Church,  Mr.  Leigh !  "  he  said  proudly. 
"  And  in  that  high  service  all  means  are  permitted  to  us 
for  a  righteous  end  !  " 

"  Ah ! — the  old  Jesuitical  hypocrisy !  "  And  Aubrey 
smiled  bitterly.  "  Lies  are  permitted  in  the  Cause  of 
Truth !  One  word,  Monsignor !  I  have  no  wish  to  play 
at  any  game  of  double-dealing  with  you.  I  have  heard 
the  whole  of  your  interview  with  this  lady.  It  is  the  first 
time  I  have  ever  played  the  eavesdropper — but  my  duty 
was  to  protect  my  promised  wife,  if  she  needed  protection 
— and  I  thought  it  was  possible  she  might  need  it — from 
you ! " 

Gherardi  turned  a  livid  paleness,  and  drew  a  quick 
breath. 

"  I  know  your  moves,"  went  on  Aubrey  quietly,  "  and  it 
will  be  my  business  as  well  as  my  pleasure  to  frustrate 


The  Master-Christian.  521 

them.  Moreover,  I  shall  give  your  plot  into  the  care  of 
the  public  press " 

"  You  will  not  dare !  "  cried  Gherardi  fiercely.  "  But 
— after  all,  what  matter  if  you  do !  — no  one  will  believe 
you !  " 

"  Not  in  Rome,  perhaps,"  returned  Aubrey  coolly. 
<:But  in  England, — in  America, — things  are  different. 
There  are  many  honest  men  who  dislike  to  contemplate 
even  a  distant  vision  of  the  talons  of  Rome  hovering  over 
us — we  look  upon  such  mischief  as  a  sign  of  decay, — for 
only  where  the  carcasses  of  nations  lie,  does  the  vulture 
hover !  We  are  not  dead  yet !  And  now,  Monsignor, — 
as  your  interview  with  the  Countess  is  ended — an  inter- 
view to  which  I  have  been  a  witness — may  I  suggest  the 
removal  of  your  presence?  You  have  made  a  propo- 
sition— she  has  rejected  it — the  matter  is  ended !  " 

Civilly  calm  and  cold  he  stood,  holding  Sylvie  close  to 
him  with  one  embracing  arm,  and  Gherardi,  looking  at 
the  two  together  thus,  impotently  wished  that  the  heavy 
sculptured  and  painted  ceiling  above  them  might  fall  and 
crush  them  into  a  pulp  before  him.  No  shame,  no  sense 
of  compunction  moved  him, — if  anything,  he  raised  his 
head  more  haughtily  than  before. 

"  Aubrey  Leigh,"  he  said,  "  Socialist,  reformer,  revo- 
lutionist— whatever  you  choose  to  call  yourself ! — you 
have  all  the  insolence  of  your  race  and  class, — and  it  is 
beneath  my  dignity  to  argue  with  you.  But  you  will  rue 
the  day  you  ever  crossed  my  path !  Not  one  thing  have 
I  threatened,  that  shall  not  be  performed !  This  unhappy 
lady  whose  mind  has  been  perverted  from  Holy  Church 
by  your  heretical  teachings,  shall  be  excommunicated. 
Henceforth  we  look  upon  her  as  a  child  of  sin,  and  we 
shall  publicly  declare  her  marriage  with  you  illegal.  The 
rest  can  be  left  with  confidence,  to — Society !  " 

And  with  a  dark  smile  which  made  his  face  look  like 
that  of  some  malignant  demon,  he  turned,  and  preserving 
his  proud  inflexibility  of  demeanour,  without  another  look 
or  gesture,  left  the  apartment. 

Then  Aubrey,  alone  with  his  love,  drew  her  closer,  and 
lifted  her  fair  face  to  his  own,  looking  at  it  with  passion- 
ate tenderness  and  admiration. 

"  You  brave  soul !  "  he  said.  "  You  true  woman ! 
You  angel  of  the  covenant  of  love !  How  shall  I  ever 


522  The  Master-Christian. 

tell  you  how  I  worship  you — how  I  revere  you — for  your 
truth  and  courage !  " 

She  trembled  under  the  ardour  of  his  utterance,  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  I  was  not  afraid !  "  she  said.  "  I  should  have  called 
Katrine, — only  I  knew  that  if  I  once  did  so,  she  also 
would  be  involved,  and  he  would  be  unscrupulous  enough 
to  ruin  my  name  with  a  few  words  in  order  to  defend 
himself  from  all  suspicion.  But  you,  Aubrey? — how  did 
it  happen  that  you  were  here  ?  " 

"  I  was  here  from  the  first !  "  he  replied  triumphantly. 
"  I  followed  on  Gherardi's  very  heels.  Your  Arab  boy 
admitted  me — he  was  in  my  secret.  He  showed  me  into 
the  anteroom  just  outside,  where  by  leaving  a  corner  of 
the  door  ajar  I  could  see  and  hear  everything.  And  I 
listened  to  your  every  word!  I  saw  every  bright  flash 
of  the  strong  soul  in  your  brave  eyes!  And  now  those 
eyes  question  me,  sweetheart, — almost  reproachfully  they 
seem  to  ask  me  why  I  did  not  interfere  between  you  and 
Gherardi  before?  Ah,  but  you  must  forgive  me  for  the 
delay !  I  wanted  to  drink  all  my  cup  of  nectar  to  the 
dregs — I  could  not  lose  one  drop  of  such  sweetness !  To 
see  you,  slight  fragile  blossom  of  a  woman,  matching 
your  truth  and  courage  against  the  treachery  and  malice 
of  the  most  unscrupulous  priestly  tool  ever  employed  by 
the  Vatican,  was  a  sight  to  make  me  strong  for  all  my 
days !  "  He  kissed  her  passionately.  "  My  love !  My 
wife  !  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  !  " 

She  raised  her  sweet  eyes  wonderingly. 

"  Did  you  doubt  me,  Aubrey  ?  " 

"  No !  I  never  doubted  you.  But  I  wondered  whether 
your  force  would  hold  out,  whether  you  might  not  be 
intimidated,  whether  you  might  not  temporize,  which 
would  have  been  natural  enough — whether  you  might  not 
have  used  some  little  social  art  or  grace  to  cover  up  and 
disguise  the  absoluteness  of  your  resolve — but  no!  You 
were  a  heroine  in  the  fight,  and  you  gave  your  blows 
straight  from  the  hilt,  without  flinching.  You  have  made 
me  twice  a  man,  Sylvie !  With  you  beside  me  I  shall  win 
all  I  might  otherwise  have  lost,  and  I  thank  God  for  you, 
dear ! — I  thank  God  for  you !  " 

He  drew  her  close  again  into  his  arms,  pressing  her 
to  his  heart  which  beat  tumultously  with  its  deep  rejoic- 


The  Master-Christian.  523 

ing, — no  fear  now  that  they  two  would  ever  cease  to  be 
one !  Xo  danger  now  of  those  miserable  so-called  "  re- 
ligious "  disputes  between  husband  and  wife,  which  are 
so  eminently  anti-Christian,  and  which  make  many  a 
home  a  hell  upon  earth, — disputes  which  young  children 
sometimes  have  to  witness  from  their  earliest  years,  when 
the  mother  talks  "  at  "  the  father  for  not  going  to  Church, 
or  the  father  sneers  at  the  mother  for  being  "  a  rank 
Papist " !  Nothing  now,  but  absolute  union  in  spirit 
and  thought,  in  soul  and  intention — the  rarest  union 
that  can  be  consummated  between  man  and  woman,  and 
yet  the  only  one  that  can  engender  perfect  peace  and  un- 
changing happiness. 

And  presently  the  lovers'  trance  of  joy  gave  way  to 
thought  for  others;  to  a  realization  of  the  dangers  hov- 
ering over  the  good  Cardinal,  and  the  already  ill-fated 
Angela  Sovrani,  and  Aubrey,  raising  the  golden  head 
that  nestled  against  his  breast,  kissed  the  sweet  lips  once 
more  and  said — 

"  Xow,  my  Sylvie,  we  must  take  the  law  into  our  own 
hands  !  We  must  do  all  we  can  to  save  our  friends.  The 
Cardinal  must  be  thought  of  first.  If  we  are  not  quick  to 
the  rescue  he  will  be  sent  '  into  retreat/  which  can  be 
translated  as  forced  detention,  otherwise  imprisonment. 
He  must  leave  Rome  to-night.  Now  listen !  " 

And  sitting  down  beside  her,  still  holding  her  hand,  he 
gave  her  an  account  of  his  meeting  with  Cyrillon  Vergn- 
iaud,  otherwise  "  Gys  Grandit/'  and  told  her  of  the  sud- 
den passion  for  Angela  that  had  fired  the  soul  of  that 
fiery  writer  of  the  fiercest  polemics  against  priestcraft 
that  had  as  yet  startled  France. 

"  Knowing  now  all  the  intended  machinations  of  Gher- 
ardi,"  continued  Aubrey,  "  what  I  suggest  is  this, — that 
you,  my  Sylvie,  should  confide  in  the  Princesse  D'Agra- 
mont,  who  is  fortunately  for  us,  an  enemy  of  the  Vati- 
can. Arrange  with  her  that  she  persuades  Angela  to 
return  under  her  escort  at  once  to  Paris.  Angela  is  well 
enough  to  travel  if  great  care  be  taken  of  her,  and  the 
Princesse  will  not  spare  that.  Cyrillon  can  go  with 
them — I  should  think  that  might  be  managed  ?  " 

He  smiled  as  he  put  this  question.  Sylvie  smiled  in 
answer  and  replied  demurely — 

"  I  should  think  so !  " 


524  The  Master-Christian. 

"  But  the  Cardinal,"  resumed  Aubrey,  "  and — and 
Manuel — must  go  to-night.  I  will  see  Prince  Sovrani 
and  arrange  it.  And  Sylvie — will  you  marry  me  to- 
morrow morning?" 

Her  eyes  opened  wide  and  she  laughed. 

"  Why  yes,  if  you  wish  it !  "  she  said.  "  But — so 
soon  ?  " 

"  Darling,  the  sooner  the  better !  I  mean  to  take  every 
possible  method  of  making  our  marriage  binding  in  the 
sight  of  the  world,  before  the  Vatican  has  time  to  launch 
its  thunders.  If  you  are  willing,  we  can  be  married  at 
the  American  Consulate  to-morrow  morning.  You  must 
remember  that  though  born  of  British  parents,  I  do  not 
resign  my  American  citizenship,  and  would  not  forego 
being  of  the  New  World  for  all  the  old  worlds  ever  made ! 
The  American  Consul  knows  me  well,  and  he  will  begin 
to  make  things  legal  for  us  to-morrow  if  you  are  ready." 

"  Begin  to  make  things  legal  ?  "  echoed  Sylvie  smiling. 
"  Will  he  do  no  more  than  begin  ?  " 

"  My  sweetheart,  he  cannot.  He  will  make  you  mine 
according  to  American  law.  In  England,  you  will  again 
be  made  mine  according  to  English  law.  And  then  after- 
wards we  will  have  our  religious  ceremony !  " 

Sylvie  looked  at  him  perplexedly,  then  gave  a  pretty 
gesture  of  playful  resignation. 

"  Let  everything  be  as  you  wish  and  decide,  Aubrey," 
she  said.  "  I  give  my  life  and  love  to  you,  and  have  no 
other  will  but  yours !  " 

He  kissed  her. 

"  I  accept  the  submission,  only  to  put  myself  more 
thoroughly  at  your  command,"  he  said  tenderly, — "  You 
are  my  queen, — but  with  powerful  enemies  against  us,  I 
must  see  that  you  are  rightfully  enthroned !  " 

A  few  minutes'  more  conversation, — then  a  hurried 
consultation  with  Madame  Bozier,  and  Sylvie,  changing 
her  lace  gown  for  a  simple  travelling  dress,  walked  out 
of  the  Casa  D'Angeli  with  the  faithful  Katrine,  and  tak- 
ing the  first  carriage  she  could  find,  was  driven  to  the 
Palazzo  where  the  Princesse  D'Agramont  had  her  apart- 
ments. Allowing  from  ten  to  fifteen  minutes  to  elapse 
after  her  departure,  Aubrey  Leigh  himself  went  out,  and 
standing  on  the  steps  of  the  house,  looked  up  and  down 
carelessly,  drawing  on  his  gloves  and  humming  a  tune 


The  Master-Christian.  525 

His  quick  glance  soon  espied  what  he  had  been  almost 
certain  he  should  see,  namely,  the  straight  black-gar- 
mented figure  of  a  priest,  walking  slowly  along  the  street 
on  the  opposite  side,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back, 
and  his  whole  aspect  indicative  of  devout  meditation. 

"  I  thought  so !  "  said  Aubrey  to  himself.  "  A  spy  set 
on  already !  No  time  to  lose — Cardinal  Bonpre  must 
leave  Rome  at  nightfall." 

Leisurely  he  crossed  the  road,  and  w-alking  with  as 
slow  a  step  as  the  priest  he  had  noticed,  came  opposite  to 
him  face  to  face.  With  impenetrable  solemnity  the  holy 
man  meekly  moved  aside, — with  equally  impenetrable 
coolness,  Aubrey  eyed  him  up  and  down,  then  the  two 
passed  each  other,  and  Aubrey  walked  with  the  same  un- 
hasting  pace,  to  the  end  of  the  street, — then  turned — 
to  see  that  the  priest  had  paused  in  his  holy  musings  to 
crane  his  neck  after  him  and  watch  him  with  the  most 
eager  scrutiny.  He  did  not  therefore  take  a  carriage  at 
the  moment  he  intended,  but  walked  on  into  the  Corso, 
— there  he  sprang  into  a  fiacre  and  drove  straight  to  the 
Sovrani  Palace.  The  first  figure  he  saw  there,  strolling 
about  in  the  front  of  the  building,  was  another  priest,  ab- 
sorbed in  apparently  profound  thoughts  on  the  sublimity 
of  the  sunset,  which  was  just  then  casting  its  red  glow 
over  the  Eternal  City.  And  with  the  appearance  of  this 
second  emissary  of  the  Vatican  police,  he  realised  the 
full  significance  of  the  existing  position  of  affairs. 

Without  a  moment's  loss  of  time  he  was  ushered  into 
the  presence  of  the  Cardinal,  and  there  for  a  moment 
stood  silent  on  the  threshold  of  the  apartment,  overcome 
by  the  noble  aspect  of  the  venerable  prelate,  who,  seated 
in  his  great  oaken  chair,  was  listening  to  a  part  of  the 
Gospel  of  Saint  Luke,  read  aloud  in.  clear  sweet  accents 
by  Manuel. 

"  A  good  man  out  of  the  good  treasure  of  his  heart 
bringeth  forth  that  which  is  good ;  and  an  evil  man  out  of 
the  evil  treasure  of  his  heart  bringeth  forth  that  which  is 
evil ;  for  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  his  mouth 
speaketh. 

"  And  why  call  ye  me,  Lord,  Lord,  and  da  not  the 
things  which  I  say? 

"  Whosoever  cometh  to  me,  and  heareth  my  sayings, 
and  doeth  them,  I  will  show  you  to  whom  he  is  like : 


526 


The  Master-Christian. 


"  He  is  like  a  man  which  built  an  house,  and  digged 
deep,  and  laid  the  foundation  on  a  rock:  and  when 
the  flood  arose,  the  stream  beat  vehemently  upon  that 
house,  and  could  not  shake  it :  for  it  was  founded  upon 
a  reck. 

"  But  he  that  heareth,  and  doeth  not,  is  like  a  man  that 
without  a  foundation  built  an  house  upon  the  earth ; 
against  which  the  stream  did  beat  vehemently,  and  imme- 
diately it  fell ;  and  the  ruin  of  that  house  was  great." 

And  emphasizing  the  last  line,  Manuel  closed  the  book ; 
then  at  a  kindly  beckoning  gesture  from  the  Cardinal, 
Aubrey  advanced  into  the  room,  bowing  with  deep  rev- 
erence and  honour  over  the  worn  old  hand  the  prelate 
extended. 

"  My  lord  Cardinal,"  he  said  without  further  preface, 
"  you  must  leave  Rome  to-night !  " 

The  Cardinal  raised  his  gentle  blue  eyes  in  wondering 
protest. 

"  By  whose  order?  " 

"  Surely  by  your  own  Master's  will,"  said  Aubrey  with 
deep  earnestness.  "  For  he  would  not  have  you  be  a  vic- 
tim to  treachery !  " 

"  Treachery !  "  And  the  Cardinal  smiled.  "  My  son, 
traitors  harm  themselves  more  than  those  they  would  be- 
tray. Treachery  cannot  touch  me ! " 

Aubrey  came  a  step  nearer. 

"  Monsignor,  if  you  do  not  care  for  yourself  you  will 
care  for  the  boy,"  he  said  in  a  lower  tone,  with  a  glance 
at  Manuel,  who  had  withdrawn,  and  was  now  standing 
at  one  of  the  windows,  the  light  of  the  sunset  appearing 
to  brighten  itself  in  his  fair  hair.  "  He  will  be  separated 
from  you ! " 

At  this  the  Cardinal  rose  up,  his  whole  form  instinct 
with  resolution  and  dignity. 

"  They  cannot  separate  us  against  the  boy's  will  or 
mine,"  he  said.  "  Manuel !  " 

Manuel  came  to  his  call,  and  the  Cardinal  placed  one 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Child,"  he  said  softly,  "  they  threaten  to  part  me  from 
you,  if  we  stay  longer  here.  Therefore  we  must  leave 
Rome !  " 

Manuel  looked  up  with  a  bright  flashing  glance  of  ten- 
derness. 


The  Master-Christian.  527 

"  Yes,  dear  friend,  we  must  leave  Rome !  "  he  said. 
"  Rome  is  no  place  for  you — or  for  me !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Something  in  the  at- 
titude of  the  old  man  and  the  young  boy  standing  side 
by  side,  moved  Aubrey  deeply;  a  sense  of  awe  as  well 
as  love  overwhelmed  him  at  the  sight  of  these  two  beings, 
so  pure  in  mind,  so  gentle  of  heart,  and  so  widely  re- 
moved in  years  and  in  life, — the  one  a  priest  of  the 
Church,  the  other  a  waif  of  the  streets,  yet  drawn  to- 
gether as  it  seemed,  by  the  simple  spirit  of  Christ's  teach- 
ing, in  an  almost  supernatural  bond  of  union.  Recover- 
ing himself  presently  he  said, 

'  To-night  then,  Monsignor?  " 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  Manuel,  who  answered  for 
him. 

"  Yes,  to-night !  We  will  be  ready !  For  the  days  are 
close  upon  the  time  when  the  birth  of  Christ  was  an- 
nounced to  a  world  that  does  not  yet  believe  in  Him !  It 
will  be  well  to  leave  Rome  before  then !  For  the  riches  of 
the  Pope's  palace  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  poor  babe 
born  in*  a  manger, — and  the  curse  of  the  Vatican  would 
be  a  discord  in  the  angels'  singing — '  Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  goodwill  towards  men'!" 

His  young  voice  rang  out,  silver  clear  and  sweet,  and 
Aubrey  gazed  at  him  in  wondering  silence. 

'  To-night !  "  repeated  Manuel,  smiling  and  stretching 
out  his  hand  with  a  gentle  authoritative  gesture.  "  To- 
night the  Cardinal  will  leave  Rome,  and  /  will  leave  it 
too — perchance  for  ever !  " 


XXXV. 

DURING  these  various  changes  in  the  lives  of  those 
with  whom  he  had  been  more  or  less  connected,  Florian 
Varillo  lay  between  life  and  death  in  the  shelter  of  a 
Trappist  monastery  on  the  Campagna.  When  he  had 
been  seized  by  the  delirium  and  fever  which  had  flung 
him,  first  convulsed  and  quivering,  and  then  totally  in- 
sensible, at  the  foot  of  the  grim,  world- forgotten  men  who 
passed  the  midnight  hours  in  digging  their  own  graves, 
he  had  been  judged  by  them  as  dying  or  dead,  and  had 
been  carried  into  a  sort  of  mortuary  chapel,  cold  and  bare, 
and  lit  only  by  the  silver  moonbeams  and  the  flicker  of  a 
torch  one  of  the  monks  carried.  Waking  in  this  ghastly 
place,  too  weak  to  struggle,  he  fell  a-moaning  like  a  tor- 
tured child,  and  was,  on  showing  this  sign  of  life,  straight- 
way removed  to  one  of  the  cells.  Here,  after  hburs  of 
horrible  suffering,  of  visions  more  hideous  than  Dante's 
Hell,  of  stupors  and  struggles,  of  fits  of  strong  shrieking, 
followed  by  weak  tears,  he  woke  one  afternoon  calm  and 
coherent, — to  find  himself  lying  on  a  straight  pallet  bed  in 
a  narrow  stone  chamber,  dimly  lighted  by  a  small  slit  of 
window,  through  which  a  beam  of  the  sun  fell  aslant,  il- 
lumining the  blood-stained  features  of  a  ghastly  Christ 
stretched  on  a  black  crucifix  directly  opposite  him.  He 
shuddered  as  he  saw  this,  and  half-closed  his  eyes  with  a 
deep  sigh. 

"  Tired — tired !  "  said  a  thin  clear  voice  beside  him. 
"  Always  tired !  It  is  only  God  who  is  never  weary !  " 

Varillo  opened  his  eyes  again  languidly,  and  turned 
them  on  a  monk  sitting  beside  him, — a  monk  whose  face 
was  neither  old  nor  young,  but  which  presented  a  singular 
combination  of  both  qualities.  His  high  forehead,  white 
as  marble,  had  no  furrows  to  mar  its  smoothness,  and 
from  under  deep  brows  a  pair  of  wondering  wistful  brown 
eyes  peered  like  the  eyes  of  a  lost  and  starving  child.  The 
cheeks  were  gaunt  and  livid,  the  flesh  hanging  in  loose 
hollows  from  the  high  and  prominent  bones,  yet  the 
•  528 


The  Master-Christian.  529 

mouth  was  that  of  a  youth,  firm,  well-outlined  and  sweet 
in  expression,  and  when  he  smiled  as  he  did  now,  he 
showed  an  even  row  of  small  pearly  teeth  which  might 
have  been  envied  by  many  a  fair  woman. 

"  Only  God  who  is  never  weary !  "  he  said,  nodding  his 
head  slowly,  "  but  we — you  and  I — we  are  soon  tired!  " 

Varillo  looked  at  him  dubiously ;  and  a  moment's 
thought  decided  him  to  assume  a  certain  amount  of  meek- 
ness and  docility  with  this  evident  brother  of  some  re- 
ligious order,  so  that  he  might  obtain  both  sympathy  and 
confidence  from  him,  and  from  all  whom  he  might  be 
bound  to  serve.  Ill  and  weak  as  he  was,  the  natural  tend- 
ency of  his  brain  to  scheme  for  his  own  advantage,  was 
not  as  yet  impaired. 

"  Ah,  yes !  "  he  sighed,  "  I  am  very  tired ! — very  ill !  I 
do  not  know  what  has  happened  to  me — nor  even  where  I 
am.  What  place  is  this  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  place  where  the  dead  come !  "  responded  the 
monk.  "  The  dead  in  heart !  the  dead  in  soul — the  dead 
in  sin !  They  come  to  bury  themselves,  lest  God  should 
find  them  and  crush  them  into  dust  before  they  have  time 
to  say  a  prayer!  Like  Adam  and  his  wife,  they  hide 
themselves  '  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord  among  the 
trees  of  the  garden.'  " 

Varillo  raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  and  stared  at  the 
pale  face  and  smiling  mouth  of  the  speaker  in  fear  and 
wonder. 

"  '  A  place  where  the  dead  come ! '  "  he  echoed.  "  But 
you  are  alive — and  so  am  I !  " 

"  You  may  be — I  am  not,"  said  the  monk  quietly.  '"  I 
died  long  ago!  People  who  are  alive  say  we  are  men, 
though  we  know  ourselves  to  be  ghosts  merely.  This 
place  is  called  by  the  world  a  Trappist  monastery, — you 
will  go  out  of  it  if  indeed  you  are  alive — you  must  prove 
that  first !  But  we  shall  never  come  out,  because  we  are 
dead.  One  never  comes  out  of  the  grave !  " 

With  an  effort  Varillo  tried  to  control  the  tremor  of 
his  nerves,  and  to  understand  and  reason  out  these  enig- 
matical sentences  of  his  companion.  He  began  to  think 
— and  then  to  remember, — and  by  and  by  was  able  to  con- 
jure up  the  picture  of  himself  as  he  had  last  been  con- 
scious of  existence, — himself  standing  outside  the  gates  of 
a  great  building  on  the  Campagna,  and  shaking  the  iron 


530  The  Master-Christian. 

bars  to  and  fro.  It  was  a  Trappist  monastery  then  ? — and 
he  was  being  taken  charge  of  by  the  Trappist  Order? 
This  fact  might  possibly  be  turned  to  his  account  if  he 
were  careful.  He  lay  down  once  more  on  his  pillow  and 
closed  his  eyes,  and  under  this  pretence  of  sleep,  pondered 
his  position.  What  were  they  saying  of  him  in  Rome? 
Was  Angela  buried?  And  her  great  picture?  What 
had  become  of  it? 

"  How  long  have  I  been  here?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

The  monk  gave  a  curious  deprecatory  gesture  with  his 
hands.  ^ 

"  Since  you  died  !     So  long  have  you  been  dead !  " 

Varillo  surveyed  him  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 

"  You  talk  in  parables — like  your  Master !  "  he  said 
with  a  feeble  attempt  at  a  laugh.  "  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  understand  you!  And  if  you  are  a  Trappist 
monk,  why  do  you  talk  at  all?  I  thought  one  of  your 
rules  was  perpetual  silence  ?  " 

"  Silence  ?  Yes — everyone  is  silent  but  me !  "  said  the 
monk — "  I  may  talk — because  I  am  only  Ambrosio, — mad 
Ambrosio ! — something  wrong  here !  "  And  he  touched 
his  forehead.  "  A  little  teasing  demon  lives  always  be- 
hind my  eyes,  piercing  my  brain  with  darts  of  fire.  And 
he  obliges  me  to  talk ;  he  makes  me  say  things  I  should 
not — and  for  all  the  mischief  he  works  upon  me  I  wear 

this see  !  " — And  springing  up  suddenly  he  threw 

aside  the  folds  of  his  garment,  and  displayed  his  bare 
chest,  over  which  a  coarse  rope  was  crossed  and  knotted 
so  tightly,  that  the  blood  was  oozing  from  the  broken  flesh 
on  either  side  of  it.  "  For  every  word  I  say,  I  bleed !  " 

Varillo  gave  a  nervous  cry  and  covered  his  eyes. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid !  "  said  Ambrosio,  drawing  his  robe 
together  again,  "  It  is  only  flesh — not  spirit — that  is 
wounded !  Flesh  is  our  great  snare, — it  persuades  us  to 
eat,  to  sleep,  to  laugh,  to  love — the  spirit  commands  none 
of  these  things.  The  spirit  is  of  God — it  wants  neither 
food  nor  rest, — it  is  pure  and  calm, — it  would  escape  to 
Heaven  if  the  flesh  did  not  cramp  its  wings !  " 

Varillo  took  his  hand  from  his  eyes  and  tossed  himself 
back  on  his  pillow  with  a  petulant  moan. 

"Can  they  do  nothing  better  for  me  than  this?"  he 
ejaculated.  "  To  place  me  here  in  this  wretched  cell 
alone  with  a  madman  !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  531 

Ambrosio  stood  by  the  pallet  bed  looking  down  upon 
him  with  a  sort  of  child-like  curiosity. 

"  No  better  than  this  ?  "  he  echoed.  "  Would  you  have 
anything  better?  Safe — safe  from  the  world, — no  one 
can  find  you  or  follow  you — no  one  can  discover  your 
sin " 

"  Sin  !  What  sin !  "  demanded  Varillo  fiercely.  "  You 
talk  like  a  fool — as  you  own  yourself  to  be !  I  have  com- 
mitted no  sin !  " 

"  Good — good !  "  said  Ambrosio.  "  Then  you  must  be 
canonized  with  all  the  rest  of  the  saints !  And  St.  Peter's 
shall  be  illuminated,  and  the  Pope  shall  be  carried  in  to 
see  you  and  to  lay  his  hands  upon  you,  and  they  shall 
shout  to  him,  '  Tu  es  Petrus! '  and  no  one  will  remember 
what  kind  of  a  bruised,  bleeding,  tortured,  broken-down 
Head  of  the  Church  stood  before  the  multitude  when 
Pilate  cried  ' Ecce  homo!'1 

Varillo  stared  at  him  in  unwilling  fascination.  He 
seemed  carried  beyond  himself, — it  was  as  though  some 
other  force  spoke  through  him,  and  though  he  scarcely 
raised  his  voice,  its  tone  was  so  clear,  musical,  and  pene- 
trative that  it  seemed  to  give  light  and  warmth  to  the 
cold  dullness  of  the  cell. 

"  You  must  not  mind  me !  "  he  went  on  softly,  "  My 
thoughts  have  all  gone  wrong,  they  tell  me, — so  have  my 
words.  I  was  young  once — and  in  that  time  I  used  to 
study  hard  and  try  to  understand  what  it  was  that  God 
wished  me  to  do  with  my  life.  But  there  were  so  many 
things — so  much  confusion — so  much  difficulty — and  the 

end  is here !  "  He  smiled.  "  Well !  It  is  a  quiet 

end, — they  say  the  devil  knocks  at  the  gate  of  the  mon- 
astery often  at  midnight,  but  he  never  enters  in, — never — 
unless  perchance  you  are  he !  " 

Varillo  turned  himself  about  pettishly. 

"  If  I  were  he,  I  should  not  trouble  you  long,"  he  said. 
"  Even  the  devil  might  be  glad  to  make  exit  from  such  a 
hole  as  this  !  Who  is  your  Superior  ?  " 

"  We  have  only  one  Superior, — God !  "  replied  Am- 
brosio. "  He  who  never  slumbers  or  sleeps — He  who 
troubles  Himself  to  look  into  everything,  from  the  cup 
of  a  flower  to  the  heart  of  a  man !  Who  shall  escape  the 
lightning  of  His  glance,  or  think  to  cover  up  a  hidden 
vileness  from  the  discovery  of  the  Most  High  ?  " 


532  The  Master-Christian. 

"  I  did  not  ask  you  for  pious  jargon,"  said  Yarillo,  be- 
ginning to  lose  temper,  yet  too  physically  weak  to  contend 
with  the  wordy  vagaries  of  this  singular  personage  who 
had  evidently  been  told  off  to  attend  upon  him.  "  I  asked 
you  who  is  the  Head  or  Ruler  of  this  community  ?  \\~ho 
gives  you  the  daily  rule  of  conduct  which  you  all  obey  ?  " 

Ambrosio's  brown  eyes  grew  puzzled,  and  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  I  obey  no  one,"  he  said.  "  I  am  mad  Ambrosio ! — I 
walk  about  in  my  grave,  and  speak,  and  sing,  while  others 
remain  silent.  I  would  tell  you  if  I  knew-  of  anyone 
greater  than  God, — but  I  do  not !  " 

Varillo  uttered  an  impatient  groan.  It  was  no  good 
asking  this  creature  anything, — his  answers  were  all  wide 
of  the  mark. 

"  God,"  went  on  Ambrosio,  turning  his  head  towards 
the  light  that  came  streaming  in  through  the  narrow 
window7  of  the  cell,  "  is  in  that  sunbeam !  He  can  enter 
where  He  will,  and  we  never  know  when  we  shall  meet 
Him  face  to  face!  He  may  possess  with  His  spirit  the 
chaste  body  of  a  woman,  as  in  our  Blessed  Lady, — or  He 
may  come  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  child,  speaking  to  the 
doctors  in  the  temple  and  arguing  with  them  on  the 
questions  of  life  and  death.  He  is  in  all  things ;  and  the 
very  beggar  at  our  gates  who  makes  trial  of  our  charity, 
may  for  all  we  know,  be  our  Lord  disguised!  Shall  I 
tell  you  a  strange  story  ?  " 

Varillo  gave  a  wear}'  sign  of  assent,  half  closing  his 
eyes.  It  was  better  this  crazed  fool  should  talk,  he 
thought,  than  that  he  should  lie  there  and  listen,  as  it 
were,  to  the  deadly  silence  which  in  the  pauses  of  the  con- 
versation could  be  felt,  like  the  brooding  heaviness  of  a 
thick  cloud  hanging  over  the  monastery  walls. 

"  It  happened  long  ago,"  said  Ambrosio.  "  There  was 
a  powerful  prince  who  thought  that  to  be  rich  and  strong 
was  sufficient  to  make  all  the  world  his  own.  But  the 
world  belongs  to  God, — and  He  does  not  always  give  it 
over  to  the  robber  and  spoiler.  This  prince  I  tell  you  of, 
had  been  the  lover  of  a  noble  lady,  but  he  was  false- 
hearted ;  and  the  false  soon  grow  weary  of  love !  And  so, 
tiring  of  her  beauty  and  her  goodness,  he  stabbed  her  mor- 
tally to  death,  and  thought  no  one  had  seen  him  do  the 
deed.  For  the  only  witness  to  it  was  a  ray  of  moonlight 


The  Master-Christian.  533 

falling  through  the  window — just  as  the  sunlight  falls 
now ! — see !  "  And  he  pointed  to  the  narrow  aperture 
which  lit  the  cell,  while  Florian  Varillo,  shuddering  in 
spite  of  himself,  lay  motionless.  "  But  when  the  victim 
was  dead,  this  very  ray  of  moonlight  turned  to  the  shape 
of  a  great  angel,  and  the  angel  wore  the  semblance  of  our 
Lord, — and  the  glory  and  the  wonder  of  that  vision  was 
as  the  lightning  to  slay  and  utterly  destroy!  And  from 
that  hour  for  many  years,  the  murderer  was  followed  by 
a  ray  of  light,  which  never  left  him;  all  day  he  saw  it 
flickering  in  his  path, — all  night  it  flashed  across  his  bed, 
driving  sleep  from  his  eyes  and  rest  from  his  brain ! — till 
at  last  maddened  by  remorse  he  confessed  his  crime  to  a 
priest,  and  was  taken  into  a  grave  like  this,  a  monastery, 
— where  he  died,  so  they  say,  penitent.  But  whether  he 
was  forgiven,  the  story  does  not  say !  " 

"  It  is  a  stupid  story!  "  said  Varillo,  opening  his  eyes, 
and  smiling  in  the  clear,  candid  way  he  always  assumed 
when  he  had  anything  to  hide.  "  It  has  neither  point 
nor  meaning." 

"'  You  think  not?  "  said  Ambrosio.  *'  But  perhaps  you 
are  not  conscious  of  God.  If  you  were,  that  sunbeam  we 
see  now  should  make  you  careful,  lest  an  angel  should  be 
in  it !  " 

"  Careful0  Why  should  I  be  careful?"  Varillo  half 
raised  himself  on  the  bed.  "  I  have  nothing  to  hide !  " 

At  this  Ambrosio  began  to  laugh. 

"  Oh,  you  are  happy — happy !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
are  the  first  I  ever  heard  say  that!  Nothing  to  hide! 
Oh,  fortunate,  fortunate  man !  Then  indeed  you  should 
not  be  here — for  we  all  have  something  to  hide,  and  we 
are  afraid  even  of  the  light, — that  is  why  we  make  such 
narrow  holes  for  it ;  we  are  always  praying  God  not  to 
look  at  our  sins, — not  to  uncover  them  and  show  us  what 
vile  souls  we  are — we  men  who  could  t>e  as  gods  in  life, 
if  we  did  not  choose  to  be  devils " 

Here  he  suddenly  broke  off,  and  a  curious  grey  rigidity 
stole  over  his  features,  as  if  some  invisible  hand  were 
turning  him  into  stone.  His  eyes  sparkled  feverishly, 
but  otherwise  his  face  was  the  lace  of  the  dead.  The 
horrible  fixity  of  his  aspect  at  that  moment,  so  terrified 
Yarillo  that  he  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  almost  before  he 
knew  he  had  uttered  it,  another  monk  entered  the  cell. 


534  The  Master-Christian. 

Varillo  gazed  at  him  affrightedly,  and  pointed  to  Am- 
brosio.  The  monk  said  nothing,  but  merely  took  the 
rigid  figure  by  its  arm  and  shook  it  violently.  Then,  as 
suddenly  as  he  had  lost  speech  and  motion,  Ambrosio  re- 
covered both,  and  went  on  talking  evenly,  taking  up  the 
sentence  he  had  broken  off — "  If  we  did  not  choose  to 
be  as  devils,  we  might  be  as  gods !  "  Then  looking 
around  him  with  a  smile,  he  added,  "  Now  you  are  here, 
Filippo,  you  will  explain  !  " 

The  monk  addressed  as  Filippo  remained  silent,  still 
holding  him  by  the  arm,  and  presently  quietly  guiding 
him,  led  him  out  of  the  cell.  When  the  two  brethren  had 
disappeared,  Varillo  fell  back  on  his  pillows  exhausted. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  now?  "  he  thought.  "  I  must  have 
been  here  many  days ! — all  Rome  must  know  of  Angela's 
death — all  Rome  must  wonder  at  my  absence — all  Rome 
perhaps  suspects  me  of  being  her  murderer !  And  yet — 
this  illness  may  be  turned  to  some  account.  I  can  say 
that  it  was  caused  by  grief  at  hearing  the  sudden  news  of 
her  death — that  I  was  stricken  down  by  my  despair — 

but  then 1  must  not  forget — I  was  to  have  been  in 

Naples.  Yes — the  thing  looks  suspicious — I  shall  be 
tracked  ! — I  must  leave  Italy.  But  how  ?  " 

Bathed  in  cold  perspiration  he  lay,  wondering,  schem- 
ing, devising  all  sorts  of  means  of  escape  from  his  present 
surroundings,  when  he  became  suddenly  aware  of  a  tall 
dark  figure  in  the  cell, — a  figure  muffled  nearly  to  its  eyes, 
which  had  entered  with  such  stealthy  softness  and  silence 
as  to  give  almost  the  impression  of  some  supernatural  vis- 
itant. He  uttered  a  faint  exclamation — the  figure  raised 
one  hand  menacingly. 

"  Be  silent !  "  These  words  were  uttered  in  a  harsh 
whisper.  "  If  you  value  your  life,  hold  your  peace  till  I 
have  said  what  I  come  to  say !  " 

Moving  to  the  door  of  the  cell,  the  mysterious  visitor 
bolted  it  across  and  locked  it — then  dropped  the  disguis- 
ing folds  of  his  heavy  mantle  and  monk  s  cowl,  and  dis- 
closed the  face  and  form  of  Domenico  Gherardi.  Par- 
alysed with  fear  Varillo  stared  at  him, — every  drop  of 
blood  seemed  to  rush  from  his  heart  to  his  brain,  turning 
him  sick  and  giddy,  for  in  the  dark  yet  fiery  eyes  of  the 
priest,  there  was  a  look  that  would  have  made  the  boldest 
tremble. 


The  Master-Christian.  535 

"  I  knew  that  you  were  here,"  he  said,  his  thin  lips 
widening  at  the  corners  in  a  slight  disdainful  smile.  "  I 
saw  you  at  the  inn  on  the  road  to  Frascati,  and  watched 
you  shrink  and  tremble  as  I  spoke  of  the  murder  of  Angela 
Sovrani !  You  screened  your  face  behind  a  paper  you 
were  reading, — that  was  not  necessary,  for  your  hand 
shook, — and  so  betrayed  itself  as  the  hand  of  the 
assassin !  " 

With  a  faint  moan,  Varillo  shudderingly  turned  away 
and  buried  his  head  in  his  pillow. 

"Why  do  you  now  wish  to  hide  yourself?"  pursued 
Gherardi.  "  Xow  when  you  are  an  honest  man  at  last, 
and  have  shown  yourself  in  your  true  colors  ?  You  were 
a  liar  hitherto,  but  now  you  have  discovered  yourself  to 
be  exactly  as  the  devil  made  you,  why  you  can  look  at  me 
without  fear — we  understand  each  other !  " 

Still  Varillo  hid  his  eyes  and  moaned,  and  Gherardi 
thereupon  laid  a  rough  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Come,  man !  You  are  not  a  sick  child  to  lie  cowering 
there  as  though  seized  by  the  plague !  What  ails  you  ? 
You  have  done  no  harm !  You  tried  to  kill  something  that 
stood  in  your  way, — I  admire  you  for  that !  I  would  do 
the  same  myself  at  any  moment !  " 

Slowly  Varillo  lifted  himself  and  looked  up  at  the  dark 
strong  face  above  him. 

"  A  pity  you  did  not  succeed !  "  went  on  Gherardi,  "  for 
the  \vorld  would  have  been  well  rid  of  at  least  one  fem- 
inine would-be  '  genius,'  whose  skill  puts  that  of  man  to 
shame !  But  perhaps  it  may  comfort  you  to  know  that 
your  blow  was  not  strong  enough  or  deep  enough,  and 
that  your  betrothed  wife  yet  lives  to  wed  you — if  she 
will !  " 

"  Lives  !  "  cried  Florian.     "  Angela  lives !  " 

"  Ay,  Angela  lives  !  "  replied  Gherardi  coldly.  "  Does 
that  give  you  joy?  Does  your  lover's  heart  beat  with 
ecstasy  to  know  that  she — twenty  times  more  gifted  than 
you,  a  hundred  times  more  famous  than  you,  a  thousand 
times  more  beloved  by  the  world  than  you — lives,  to  be 
crowned  with  an  immortal  fame,  while  you  are  relegated 
to  scorn  and  oblivion !  Does  that  content  you  ?  " 

A  dull  red  flush  crept  over  Varillo's  cheeks, — his  hand 
clenched  the  coverlet  of  his  tv>d  convulsively. 

"  Lives !  "  he  muttered.    "  She  lives !    Then  it  must  be 


536  The  Master-Christian. 

by  a  miracle !  For  I  drove  the  steel  deep  .  .  .  deep 
home !  " 

Gherardi  looked  at  him  curiously,  with  the  air  of  a  sci- 
entist watching  some  animal  writhing  under  vivisection. 

"  Perhaps  Cardinal  Felix  prayed  for  her !  "  he  said 
mockingly,  "  and  even  as  he  healed  the  crippled  child  in 
Rouen  he  may  have  raised  his  niece  from  the  dead !  But 
miracle  or  no  miracle,  she  lives.  That  is  why  I  am  here  !  " 

"  Why — you — are — here  ?  "  repeated  Varillo  mechani- 
cally. 

"  How  dull  you  are !  "  said  Gherardi  tauntingly.  "  A 
man  like  you  with  a  dozen  secret  intrigues  in  Rome, 
should  surely  be  able  to  grasp  a  situation  better !  Angela 
Sovrani  lives,  I  tell  you, — I  am  here  to  help  you  to  kill 
her  more  surely !  Your  first  attempt  was  clumsy, — and 
dangerous  to  yourself,  but — murder  her  reputation, 
amico,  murder  her  reputation ! — and  so  build  up  your 
own !  " 

Slowly  Varillo  turned  his  eyes  upon  him.  Gherardi 
met  them  unflinchingly,  and  in  that  one  glance  the  two 
were  united  in  the  spirit  of  their  evil  intention. 

"  You  are  a  man,"  went  on  Gherardi,  watching  him 
closely.  "  Will  you  permit  yourself  to  be  baffled  and 
beaten  in  the  race  for  fame  by  a  woman  ?  Shame  on  you 
if  you  do !  Listen !  I  am  prepared  to  swear  that  you  are 
innocent  of  having  attempted  the  murder  of  your  affi- 
anced wife,  and  I  will  also  assert  that  the  greater  part  of 
her  picture  was  painted  by  you,  though  you  were,  out  of 
generosity  and  love  for  her,  willing  to  let  her  take  the 
credit  of  the  whole  conception !  " 

Varillo  started  upright. 

"  God !  "  he  cried.  "  Is  it  possible !  Will  you  do  this 
forme?" 

"  Not  for  you — No,"  said  Gherardi  contemptuously. 
"  I  will  do  nothing  for  you !  If  I  saw  you  lying  in  the 
road  at  my  feet  dying  for  want  of  a  drop  of  water,  I 
would  not  give  it  to  you !  What  I  do,  I  do  for  myself— 
and  the  Church  !  " 

By  this  time  Varillo  had  recovered  his  equanimity.  A 
smile  came  readily  to  his  lips  as  he  said — 

"  Ah,  the  Church  !  Excellent  institution !  Like  char- 
ity, it  covers  a  multitude  of  sins !  " 

"  It  exists  for  that  object,"  answered  Gherardi  with  a 


The  Master-Christian.  537 

touch  of  ironical  humor.  "  Its  own  sins  it  covers, — and 
shows  up  the  villainies  of  those  who  sin  outside  its  juris- 
diction. Angela  Sovrani  is  one  of  these, — her  uncle  the 
Cardinal  is  another, — Sylvie  Hermenstein " 

"  \\  hat  of  her?  "  cried  Varillo,  his  eyes  sparkling.  "  Is 
her  marriage  broken  off  ?  " 

"  Broken  off !  "  Gherardi  gave  a  fierce  gesture. 
"  Would  that  it  were !  No !  She  renounces  the  Church 
for  the  sake  of  Aubrey  Leigh — she  leaves  the  faith  of  her 
fathers " 

"  And  takes  the  wealth  of  her  fathers  with  her !  "  fin- 
ished Varillo,  maliciously.  "  I  see !  I  understand !  The 
Church  has  reason  for  anger !  " 

"  It  has  reason !  "  echoed  Gherardi.  "  And  we  of  the 
Church  choose  you  as  the  tool  wherewith  to  work  our 
vengeance.  And  why?  Because  you  are  a  born  liar! — 
because  you  can  look  straight  in  the  eyes  of  man  or 
woman,  and  swear  to  a  falsehood  without  flinching ! — be- 
cause you  are  an  egotist,  and  will  do  anything  to  serve 
yourself — because  you  have  neither  heart  nor  conscience 
— nor  soul  nor  feeling, — because  you  are  an  animal  in  de- 
sires and  appetite, — because  of  this,  I  say,  we  yoke  you  to 
our  chariot  wheels,  knowing  you  may  be  trusted  to  drive 
over  and  trample  down  the  creatures  that  might  be  val- 
uable to  you  if  they  did  not  stand  in  your  way !  " 

Such  bitterness,  such  scorn,  such  loathing  were  in  his 
accents,  that  even  the  callous  being  he  addressed  was 
stung,  and  made  a  feeble  gesture  of  protest. 

"  You  judge  me  harshly,"  he  began 

Gherardi  laughed. 

"  Judge  you  !  Not  I !  No  judgment  is  wanted.  I  read 
you  like  a  book  through  and  through, — a  book  that  should 
be  set  on  Nature's  Index  Expurgatorius,  as  unfit  to  meet 
the  eyes  of  the  faithful !  You  are  a  low  creature,  Florian 
Varillo, — and  unscrupulous  as  I  am  myself,  I  despise  you 
for  meanness  greater  than  even  I  am  capable  of !  But  you 
are  a  convenient  tool,  ready  to  hand,  and  I  use  you  for  the 
Church's  service !  If  you  were  to  refuse  to  do  as  I  bid 
you,l  would  brand  you  through  the  world  as  the  murderer 
you  are!  So  realize  to  the  full  how  thoroughly  I  have 
you  in  my  power.  Now  understand  me, — you  must  leave 
this  place  to-morrow.  I  will  send  my  carriage  for  yo.1 
and  you  shaH  come  at  once  to  me,  to  me  in  Rome  as  my 


538  The  Master-Christian. 

guest, — my  honoured  guest !  "  And  he  emphasized  the 
word  sarcastically.  "  You  are  weak  and  ill  yet,  they  tell 
me  here, — so  much  the  better  for  you.  It  will  make  you 
all  the  more  interesting !  You  will  find  it  easier  to  play  the 
part  of  injured  innocence!  Do  you  understand?" 

"  I  understand,"  answered  Varillo  with  a  faint  shudder, 
for  the  strong  and  relentless  personality  of  Gherardi  over- 
powered him  with  a  sense  of  terror  which  he  could  not 
wholly  control. 

"  Good !  Then  we  will  say  no  more.  Brief  words  are 
best  on  such  burning  matters.  To-morrow  at  six  in  the 
afternoon  I  will  send  for  you.  Be  ready !  Till  then — try 
to  rest — try  to  sleep  without  dreaming  of  a  scaffold !  " 

He  folded  his  mantle  around  him  again  and  prepared  to 
depart. 

"  Sleep,"  he  repeated.  "  Sleep  with  a  cold  heart  and 
quiet  mind !  Think  that  it  is  only  a  woman's  name — a 
woman's  work — a  woman's  honour,  that  stand  in  your 
way, — and  congratulate  yourself  with  the  knowledge  that 
the  Church  and  her  Divine  authority  will  help  you  to  re- 
move all  three !  Farewell !  " 

He  turned,  and  unlocked  the  door  of  the  cell.  As  he 
threw  it  open,  he  was  confronted  by  the  monk  Ambrosio, 
who  was  outside  on  the  very  threshold. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? "  he  demanded  sus- 
piciously. "  I  had  a  permit  from  the  Superior  to  speak  to 
your  charge  alone." 

"  And  were  you  not  alone  ?  "  returned  Ambrosio  smil- 
ing. "  I  was  not  with  you !  I  was  here  as  sentinel,  to 
prevent  anyone  disturbing  you.  Poor  Ambrosio — mad 
Ambrosio!  He  is  no  good  at  all  except  to  guard  the 
dead !  " 

Gherardi  looked  at  him  scrutinizingly,  and  noted  the 
lack-lustre  eyes,  the  helpless  childish  expression,  of  the 
half-young,  half-old  face  confronting  his  own. 

"  Guard  the  dead  as  much  as  you  please,"  he  said 
harshly.  "  But  take  heed  how  you  spy  on  the  living !  Be 
careful  of  the  sick  man  lying  yonder — we  want  him  back 
with  us  in  Rome  to-morrow." 

Ambrosio  nodded. 

"  Back  in  Rome — good — good  !  "  he  said.  "  Then  he 
is  living  after  all !  I  thought  he  was  dead  in  his  sins  as  I 
am, — but  you  tell  me  he  lives,  and  will  go  back  to  Rome ! — 


The  Master-Christian.  539 

Oh  yes — I  will  take  care  of  him good  care! — do  not 

fear !  I  know  how  to  guard  him  so  that  he  shall  not 
escape  you !  " 

Gherardi  looked  at  him  again  sharply,  but  he  was  play- 
ing with  his  long  rosary  and  smiling  foolishly,  and  there 
seemed  no  use  in  wasting  further  speech  upon  him.  So, 
muffling  himself  in  his  cloak,  he  strode  away,  and  Am- 
brosio  entered  the  cell. 

"  You  shall  have  meat  and  wine  presently,"  he  said, 
approaching  the  bed  where  Florian  lay.  "  The  devil  has 
given  orders  that  you  shall  be  well  fed !  " 

Yarillo  looked  up  and  smiled  kindly.  He  could  assume 
any  expression  at  command,  and  it  suited  his  purpose  just 
now  to  be  all  gentleness. 

"  My  poor  friend !  "  he  said  compassionately.  "  Your 
wits  are  far  astray!  Devil?  Nay — he  who  has  just  left 
us  is  more  of  a  saint !  " 

Ambrosio's  brown  eyes  flashed,  but  he  maintained  a 
grave  and  immovable  aspect. 

"  The  devil  has  often  mocked  us  in  saint's  disguise," 
he  said  slowly.  "  I  tell  the  porter  here  even,'  night  to 
keep  the  gates  well  locked  against  him, — but  this  time  it 
was  no  use;  he  has  entered  in.  And  now  we  shall  have 
great  work  to  get  him  out ! " 

Yarillo  resting  his  head  on  one  arm,  studied  him  curi- 
ously. 

"  You  must  have  lived  a  strange  life  in  the  world!  "  he 
said.  "  That  is  if  you  were  ever  in  the  world  at  all.  Were 
you?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  was  in  the  world,"  replied  Ambrosio  calmly. 
"  I  was  in  the  midst  of  men  and  women  wrho  passed  their 
whole  lives  in  acts  of  cruelty  and  treachery  to  one  another. 
I  never  met  a  man  who  was  honest ;  I  never  saw  a  woman 
who  was  true !  I  wondered  where  God  was  that  He  per- 
mitted such  vile  beings  to  live  and  take  His  name  in  vain. 
He  seemed  lost  and  gone. — I  could  not  find  Him !  " 

"  Ah !  "  ejaculated  Florian  languidly.  "  And  did  you 
discover  Him  here  ?  In  this  monastery  ?  " 

"  Xo — He  is  not  here,  for  we  are  all  dead  men,"  said 
Ambrosio.  "  And  God  is  the  God  of  the  living,  not  the 
God  of  the  dead !  Shall  I  tell  you  where  I  found  him  ?  " 
And  he  advanced  a  step  or  two,  raising  one  hand  warn- 
ingly  as  though  he  were  entrusted  with  some  message  of 


540  The  Master  Christian. 

doom — "  I  found  Him  in  sin !  I  tried  to  live  a  life  of 
truth  in  a  world  of  lies,  but  the  lies  were  too  strong  for 
me, — they  pulled  me  down!  I  fell — into  a  black  pit  of 
crime — reckless,  determined,  conscious  wickedness, — and 
so  found  God in  my  punishment !  " 

He  clasped  his  hands  together  with  an  expression  of 
strange  ecstasy. 

"  Down  into  the  darkness !  "  he  said.  "  Down  through 
long  vistas  of  shadow  and  blackness  you  go,  glad  and  ex- 
ultant, delighting  in  evil,  and  thinking  '  God  sees  me  not ! ' 
And  then  suddenly  at  the  end,  a  sword  of  fire  cuts  the 
darkness  asunder, — and  the  majesty  of  the  Divine  Law 
breaks  your  soul  on  the  wheel !  " 

He  looked  steadfastly  at  Varillo. 

•  "So  you  will  find, — so  you  must  find,  if  you  ever  go 
down  into  the  darkness." 

"  Ay,  if  I  ever  go,"  said  Florian  gently.  "  But  I  shall 
not." 

"  No? — then  perhaps  you  are  there  already?  "  said  Am- 
brosio  smiling,  and  playing  with  his  rosary.  "  For  those 
who  say  they  will  never  sin  have  generally  sinned !  " 

Varillo  held  the  same  kind  look  of  compassion  in  his 
eyes.  He  was  fond  of  telling  his  fellow-artists  that  he 
had  a  "  plastic  "  face, — and  this  quality  served  him  well 
just  now.  He  might  have  been  a  hero  and  martyr,  from 
the  peaceful  and  patient  expression  of  his  features,  and 
he  so  impressed  by  his  manner  a  lay-brother  who  pres- 
ently entered  to  give  him  his  evening  meal,  that  he  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  rid  of  Ambrosio  altogether. 

"  You  are  sure  you  are  strong  enough  to  be  left  with- 
out an  attendant  ?  "  asked  the  lay-brother  solicitously, 
quite  captivated  by  the  gentleness  of  his  patient.  "  There 
is  a  special  evening  service  to-night  in  the  chapel,  and 
Ambrosio  should  be  there  to  play  the  organ — for  he  plays 
well — but  this  duty  had  been  given  to  Fra  Filippo — 

"  Nay,  but  let  Ambrosio  fulfil  his  usual  task,"  said 
Varillo  considerately.  "  I  am  much  better — much 
stronger, — and  as  my  good  friend  Monsignor  Gherardi 
desires  me  to  be  in  Rome  to-morrow,  and  to  stay  with 
him  till  I  am  quite  restored  to  health,  ^  must  try  to  rest  as 
quietly  as  I  can  till  my  hour  of  departure."  > 

"  You  must  be  a  great  man  to  have  Domenico  Gherardi 
for  a  friend !  "  said  the  lay-brother  wistfully. 


The  Master-Christian.  541 

Here  Ambrosio  suddenly  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  You  are  right !  He  is  a  great  man ! one  of  the 

greatest  in  Rome,  or  for  that  matter  in  the  world !  And 
he  means  to  be  yet  greater !  "  And  with  that  he  turned  on 
his  heel  and  left  the  cell  abruptly. 

Varillo,  languidly  sipping  the  wine  that  had  been 
brought  to  him  with  his  food,  looked  after  him  with  a 
pitying  smile. 

"  Poor  soul !  "  he  said  gently. 

"  He  was  famous  once,"  said  the  lay-brother,  lowering 
his  voice  as  he  spoke.  "  One  of  the  most  famous  sculp- 
tors in  Europe.  But  something  went  wrong  with  his  life, 
and  he  came  here.  It  is  difficult  to  make  him  understand 
orders,  or  obey  them,  but  the  Superior  allows  him  to  re- 
main on  account  of  his  great  skill  in  music.  On  that 
point  at  least  he  is  sane." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Varillo  indifferently.  He  was  begin- 
ning to  weary  of  the  conversation,  and  wished  to  be  alone. 
"  It  is  well  for  him  that  he  is  useful  to  you  in  some  regard. 
And  now,  my  friend,  will  you  leave  me  to  rest  awhile  ?  If 
it  be  possible  I  shall  try  to  sleep  now  till  morning." 

"  One  of  us  will  come  to  you  at  daybreak,"  said  the 
lay-brother.  "  You  are  still  very  weak — you  will  need 
assistance  to  dress.  Your  clothes  are  here  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  I  hope  you  will  sleep  well." 

'  Thank  you !  "  said  Varillo,  conveying  an  almost  tear- 
ful look  of  gratitude  into  his  eyes — "  You  are  very  good 
to  me !  God  bless  you !  " 

The  lay-brother  made  a  gentle  deprecatory  gesture  of 
his  hands  and  retired,  and  Varillo  was  left  to  his  own  re- 
flections. He  lay  still,  thinking  deeply,  and  marvelling  at 
the  unexpected  rescue  out  of  his  difficulties  so  suddenly 
afforded  him. 

"  With  Gherardi  to  support  me,  I  can  say  anything !  " 
he  mused,  his  heart  beating  quickly  and  exultingly.  "  I 
can  say  anything  and  swear  anything!  And  even  if  the 
sheath  of  my  .dagger  has  been  found,  it  will  be  no  proof, 
for  I  can  say  it  is  not  mine.  Any  lie  I  choose  to  tell  will 
have  Gherardi's  word  to  warrant  it! — so  I  am  safe — un- 
less Angela  speaks !  " 

He  considered  this  possibility  for  a  moment,  then 
smiled. 

"  But  she  never  will !     She  is  one  of  those  strange 


542  The  Master-Christian. 

women  who  endure  without  complaint, — she  is  too  lofty 
and  pure  for  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  the  world  natu- 
rally takes  vengeance  upon  her.  There  is  not  a  man  born 
that  does  not  hate  too  pure  a  woman ;  it  is  his  joy  to  de- 
grade her  if  he  can !  This  is  the  way  of  Nature ;  what  is 
a  woman  made  for  except  to  subject  herself  to  her  master ! 
And  when  she  rises  superior  to  him — superior  in  soul,  in- 
tellect, heart  and  mind,  he  sees  in  her  nothing  but  an  ab- 
normal prodigy,  to  be  stared  at,  laughed  at,  despised — 
but  never  loved!  The  present  position  of  affairs  is  An- 
gela's fault,  not  mine.  She  should  not  have  concealed 
the  work  she  was  doing  from  her  lover,  who  had  the 
right  to  know  all  her  secrets !  " 

He  laughed, — a  low  malicious  laugh,  and  then  lay  tran- 
quilly on  his  pillows  gazing  at  the  gradually  diminishing 
light.  Day  was  departing — night  was  coming  on, — and 
as  the  shadows  lengthened,  the  solemn  sound  of  the 
organ  began  to  vibrate  through  the  walls  of  the  monastery 
like  far-off  thunder  growing  musical.  With  a  certain 
sensuous  delight  in  the  beautiful,  Varillo  listened  to  it 
with  pleasure ;  he  had  no  mind  to  probe  the  true  meaning 
of  music,  but  the  mere  sound  was  soothing  and  sublime, 
and  seemed  in  its  gravity,  to  match  the  "tone"  of  the  light 
that  was  gradually  waning.  So  satisfied  was  he  with  that 
distant  pulse  of  harmony  that  he  began  weaving  some 
verses  in  his  head  to  "  His  Absent  Lady," — and  succeeded 
in  devising  quite  a  charming  lyric  to  her  whose  honour 
and  renown  he  was  ready  to  kill.  So  complex,  so  curious, 
so  callous,  yet  sensuous,  and  utterly  egotistical  was  his 
nature,  that  had  Angela  truly  died  under  his  murderous 
blow,  he  would  have  been  ready  now  to  write  such  ex- 
quisite verses  in  the  way  of  a  lament  for  her  loss,  as 
should  have  made  a  world  of  sentimental  women  weep, 
not  knowing  the  nature  of  the  man. 

The  last  glimpse  of  day  vanished,  and  the  cell  was  only 
illuminated  by  a  flickering  gleam  which  crept  through  the 
narrow  crevice  of  the  door  from  the  oil  lamp  outside  in 
the  corridor.  The  organ  music  ceased — to  be  followed  by 
the  monotonous  chanting  of  the  monks  at  their  evening 
orisons, — and  in  turn,  these  too  came  to  an  end,  and  all 
was  silent.  Easily  and  restfully  Florian  Varillo,  calling 
himself  in  his  own  mind  poet,  artist,  and  lover  of  all 
women  rather  than  one,  turned  on  his  pillow  and  slept 


The  Master-Christian.  543 

peacefully, — a  calm  deep  sleep  such  as  is  only  supposed  to 
visit  the  innocent  and  pure  of  conscience,  but  which  in 
truth  just  as -often  refreshes  the  senses  of  the  depraved 
and  dissolute,  provided  they  are  satisfied  with  evil  as  their 
good.  How  many  hours  he  slept  he  did  not  know,  but  he 
was  wakened  at  last  by  a  terrible  sense  of  suffocation,  and 
he  sat  up  gasping  for  breath,  to  find  the  cell  full  of  thick 
smoke  and  burning  stench.  The  flickering  reflection  of 
the  lamp  was  gone,  and  as  he  instinctively  leaped  from  his 
bed  and  grasped  his  clothes,  he  heard  the  monastery  bell 
above  him  swinging  to  and  fro,  with  a  jarring  heavy 
clang.  Weak  from  the  effects  of  his  illness,  and  scarcely 
able  to  stand,  he  dragged  on  some  of  his  garments,  and 
rushing  to  the  door  threw  it  open,  to  be  met  with  dense 
darkness  and  thick  clouds  of  smoke  wreathing  towards 
him  in  all  directions.  He  uttered  a  loud  shriek. 

"Fire!" 

The  bell  clanged  on  slowly  over  his  head,  but  other- 
wise there  was  no  response.  Stumbling  along,  blinded, 
suffocated,  not  knowing  at  any  moment  whether  he  might 
not  be  precipitated  down  some  steep  flight  of  stairs  or 
over  some  high  gallery  in  the  building,  he  struggled  to 
follow  what  seemed  to  be  a  cooling  breath  of  air  which 
streamed  through  the  smoke  as  though  blowing  in  from 
some  open  door,  and  as  he  felt  his  way  with  his  hands  on 
the  wall  he  suddenly  heard  the  organ. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  thought,  "  I  am  near  the  chapel ! 
The  fire  has  broken  out  in  this  part  of  the  building — the 
monks  do  not  know  and  are  still  at  prayer.  I  shall  be  in 
time  to  save  them  all !  .  .  ." 

A  small  tongue  of  red  flame  flashed  upon  his  eyes — 
he  recoiled — then  pressed  forward  again,  seeing  a  door  in 
front  of  him.  The  organ  music  sounded  nearer  and 
nearer ;  he  rushed  to  the  door,  half  choked  and  dizzy,  and 
pushing  it  open,  reeled  into  the  organ  loft,  where  at  the 
organ,  sat  the  monk  Ambrosio,  shaking  out  such  a  storm 
of  music  as  might  have  battered  the  gates  of  Heaven  or 
Hell.  Varillo  leaped  forward then,  as  he  saw  the  in- 
terior of  the  chapel,  uttered  one  agonized  shriek,  and 
stood  as  though  turned  to  stone.  For  the  whole  place 
was  in  flames! — everything  from  the  altar  to  the  last 
small  statue  set  in  a  niche,  was  ablaze,  and  only  the  organ, 
raised  like  a  carven  pinnacle,  appeared  to  be  intact,  set 


544  The  Master-Christian. 

high  above  the  blazing  ruin.  Enrapt  in  his  own  dreams, 
Ambrosio  sat,  pouring  thunderous  harmony  out  of  the 
golden-tubed  instrument  which  as  yet,  with  its  self-acting 
machinery,  was  untouched  by  the  flames,  and  Vajillo  half- 
mad  with  terror,  sprang  at  him  like  a  wild  beast. 

"  Stop !  "  he  cried.  "  Stop,  fool !  Do  you  not  see — 
can  you  not  understand — the  monastery  is  on  fire !  " 

Ambrosio  shook  him  off;  his  brown  eyes- were  clear  and 
bright, — his  whole  expression  stern  and  resolved. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  replied.  "  And  we  shall  burn — you 
and  I — together !  " 

"  Oh,  mad  brute !  "  cried  Varillo.  "  Tell  me  which 
way  to  go ! — where  are  the  brethren  ?  " 

"  Outside !  "  he  answered.  "  Safe ! — away  at  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  garden,  digging  their  own  graves,  as 
usual !  Do  you  not  hear  the  bell  ?  We  are  alone  in  the 
building! — I  have  locked  the  doors, — the  fire  is  kindled 
inside !  We  shall  be  dead  before  the  flames  burst 
through ! " 

"  Madman !  "  shrieked  Varillo,  recoiling  as  the  thick 
volumes  of  smoke  rolled  up  from  the  blazing  altar. 
"  Die  if  you  must ! — but  I  will  not !  Where  are  the  win- 
dows?— the  doors? " 

"  Locked  and  bolted  fast,"  said  Ambrosio,  with  a  smile 
of  triumph.  "  There  is  no  loophole  of  escape  for  you ! 
The  world  might  let  you  go  free  to  murder  and  betray, — 

but  I Ambrosio, a  scourge  in  the  Lord's  hand — I 

will  never  let  you  go !  Pray — pray  before  it  is  too  late ! 
I  heard  the  devil  tempt  you — I  heard  you  yield  to  his 
tempting!  You  were  both  going  to  ruin  a  woman — that 
is  devil's  work.  And  God  told  me  what  to  do — to  burn 
the  evil  out  by  flame,  and  purify  your  soul !  Pray, 
brother,  pray ! — for  in  the  searching  and  tormenting  fire 
it  will  be  too  late !  Pray !  Pray !  " 

And  pressing  his  hands  again  upon  the  organ  he  struck 
out  a  passage  of  chords  like  the  surging  of  waves  upc.i 
the  shore  or  storm-winds  in  the  forest,  and  began  to  sing, 

"  Confutatis  maledictis 
Flammis  acribus  addictis 
Voca  me  cum  benedictis  !  " 

Infuriated  to  madness,  but  too  physically  weak  to  strug- 
gle with  one  who,  though  wandering  in  brain,  was  sound 
in  body,  Varillo  tried  to  drag  him  from  his  seat, — but  the 


The  Master-Christian.  545 

attempt  was  useless.  Ambrosio  seemed  possessed  by  a 
thousand  electric  currents  of  force  and  resolution  com- 
bined. He  threw  off  Varillo  as  though  he  were  a  mere 
child,  and  went  on  singing — 

"  Oro  supplex  et  acclinis 
Cor  contritum  quasi  cinis  : 
Gere  curam  mei  finis. 

Lacrymosa  dies  ilia, — " 

Driven  to  utter  desperation,  Varillo  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment inert, — then,  suddenly  catching  sight  of  a  rope 
hanging  from  one  of  the  windows  close  at  hand,  he  rushed 
to  it  and  pulled  it  furiously.  The  top  of  the  window 
yielded,  and  fell  open  on  its  hinge — the  smoke  rushed 
up  to  the  aperture,  and  Florian,  still  clinging  to  the  rope, 
shouted,  "  Help ! — Help !  "  with  all  the  force  he  could 
muster.  But  the  air  blowing  strongly  against  the  smoke 
fanned  the  flames  in  the  body  of  the  chapel, — they  leaped 
higher  and  higher, — and — seeing  the  red  glow  deepening 
about  him,  Ambrosio  smiled. 

"  Cry  your  loudest,  you  will  never  be  heard !  "  he  said 
— "  Those  who  are  busy  with  graves  have  done  with  life ! 
You  had  best  pray  while  you  have  time — let  God  take 
you  with  His  name  on  your  lips !  " 

And  as  the  smoke  and  flame  climbed  higher  and  higher 
and  began  to  wreathe  itself  about  the  music  gallery,  he 
resumed  his  solemn  singing. 

"  Lacrymosa  dies  ilia, 
Qua  resurgat  ex  favilla 
Judicandus  homo  reus 
Huic  ergo  parce,  Deus  : 
Pie  Jesu  Domine 
Dona  eis  requiem  !  " 

But  Varillo  still  shrieked  "  Help ! "  and  his  frenzied 
cries  were  at  last  answered.  The  great  bell  overhead 
ceased  ringing  suddenly, — and  its  cessation  created  an 
effect  of  silence  even  amid  the  noise  of  the  crackling  fire 
and  the  continued  grave  music  of  the  organ.  Then  came 

a  quick  tramp  of  many  feet — a  hubbub  of  voices and 

loud  battering  knocks  at  the  chapel  door.  Ambrosio 
laughed  triumphantly. 

"  We  are  at  prayers  !  "  he  cried — "  We  admit  no  one ! 
The* devil  and  I  are  at  prayers!  " 


546  The  Master-Christian. 

Varillo  sprang  at  him  once  more. 

"  Madman !  Show  me*  the  way ! "  he  screamed. 
"  Show  me  the  way  down  from  this  place  or  I  will  stran- 
gle you !  " 

"  Find  your  own  way !  "  answered  Ambrosio — "  Make 

it — as  you  have  always  made  it! and  follow  it to 

Hell !  " 

As  he  spoke  the  gallery  rocked  to  and  fro,  and  a  tall 
flame  leaped  at  the  organ  like  a  living  thing  ready  to 
seize  and  devour.  Still  the  knocking  and  hammering 
continued,  and  still  Ambrosio  played  wild  music — till  all 
at  once  the  chapel  door  was  broken  open  and  a  group  of 
pale  spectral  faces  in  monk's  cowls  peered  through  the 
smoke,  and  then  retreated  again. 

"  Help  !  "  shrieked  Varillo—"  Help !  " 

But  the  air  rushing  through  the  door  and  meeting  with 
that  already  blowing  through  the  window  raised  a  per- 
fect pyramid  of  flame  which  rose  straight  up  and  com- 
pletely encircled  the  organ.  With  a  frightful  cry  Varillo 
rushed  to  Ambrosio's  side,  and  cowering  down,  clung  to 
his  garments. 

"  Oh,  God  !— Oh,  God  !     Have  mercy  !— 

"  He  will  have  mercy !  "  said  Ambrosio,  still  keeping 
his  hands  on  the  organ-keys  and  drawing  out  strange 
plaintive  chords  of  solemn  harmony — "  He  will  have 

mercy be  sure  of  it !  Ambrosio  will  ask  Him  to  be 

merciful ! — Ambrosio  has  saved  you  from  crime  worse 
than  death, Ambrosio  has  cleansed  you  by  fire !  Am- 
brosio will  help  you  to  find  God  in  the  darkness !  " 

Smoke  and  flame  encircled  them, — for  one  moment 
more  their  figures  were  seen  like  black  specks  in  the 

wreathing  columns  of  fire for  one  moment  more  the 

music  of  the  organ  thundered  through  the  chapel, — then 
came  a  terrific  crash — a  roar  of  the  victorious  flames  as 
they  sprang  up  high  to  the  roof  of  the  building,  and  then 

then  nothing  but  a  crimson  glare  on  the  Campagna, 

seen  for  miles  and  miles  around,  and  afterwards  described 
to  the  world  by  the  world's  press  as  the  "  Burning  Down 
of  a  Trappist  Monastery  "  in  which  no  lives  had  been  lost 
save  those  of  one  Fra  Ambrosio,  long  insane,  who  was 
supposed  to  have  kindled  the  destructive  blaze  in  a  fit  of 
mania, — and  of  a  stranger,  sick  of  malarial  fever,  whom 
the  monks  had  sheltered,  name  unknown. 


XXXVI. 

THE  same  night  which  saw  the  red  glare  of  the  burning 
monastery  reflected  from  end  to  end  of  the  Campagna, 
like  the  glow  of  some  gigantic  pagan  funeral  pyre,  saw 
also  the  quiet  departure  of  Cardinal  Bonpre  and  his 
"  foundling  "  Manuel  from  Rome.  Innocent  of  all  evil, 
their  escape  was  after  the  manner  of  the  guilty ;  for  the 
spies  of  the  Vatican  were  on  guard  outside  the  Sovrani 
Palace,  and  one  priest  after  another  "  relieved  the  watch  " 
in  the  fashion  of  military  sentries.  But  like  all  too  cun- 
ning schemers,  these  pious  detectives  overreached  the 
goal  of  their  intention,  and  bearing  in  mind  the  fact  of 
the  Cardinal's  unsuspecting  simplicity,  it  never  occurred 
to  them  to  think  he  had  been  put  on  his  guard  so  soon, 
or  that  he  would  take  advantage  of  any  secret  way  of 
flight.  But  the  private  door  of  Angela's  studio  through 
which  Florian  Varillo  had  fled,  and  the  key  of  which  he 
had  thrown  into  the  Tiber,  had  been  forced  open,  and  set 
in  use  again,  and  through  this  the  harmless  prelate,  with 
his  young  companion,  passed  without  notice  or  hin- 
drance, and  under  the  escort  of  Aubrey  Leigh  and  Cyril- 
Ion  Vergniaud,  reached  the  railway  station  unintercepted 
by  any  message  or  messenger  from  the  Papal  court,  and 
started  for  Paris  and  London.  When  the  train,  moving 
slowly  at  first  from  the  platform,  began  to  rush,  and 
finally  darted  swriftly  out  of  sight,  Aubrey  breathed  more 
easily. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  said.  "  They  are  safe  for  the  pres- 
ent !  England  is  a  free  country !  " 

"  Is  it  ?  "  And  Vergniaud  snniled  a  little.  "  Are  you 
sure  ?  England  cannot  dispute  the  authority  of  the  Vati- 
can over  its  own  sworn  servants.  Are  you  not  yourself 
contending  against  the  power  of  Rome  in  Great 
Britain?" 

"  Not  only  against  Rome  do  I  contend,"  replied  Au- 
brey. "  My  battle  is  against  all  who  seek  to  destroy  the 

547 


548  The  Master-Christian. 

true  meaning  and  intention  of  Christianity.  But  so  far 
as  Romanism  is  concerned, — we  have  a  monarch  whose 
proudest  title  is  Defender  of  the  Faith — that  is  Defender 
of  the  Faith  against  Papal  interference." 

"  Yes  ?  And  yet  her  bishops  pander  to  Rome  ?  Ah, 
my  dear  friend ! — your  monarch  is  kept  in  ignorance  of 
the  mischief  being  worked  in  her  realm  by  the  Papal  se- 
cret service !  Cardinal  Bonpre  in  London  is  as  much 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Pope  as  if  he  still  remained 
in  Rome,  and  though  he  may  be  able  to  delay  the  sepa- 
ration between  himself  and  .the  boy  he  cherishes,  he  will 
scarcely  avert  it !  " 

"  Why  should  they  wish  to  part  that  child  from  him  I 
wonder !  "  said  Aubrey  musingly. 

Cyrillon  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Who  can  tell !  They  have  their  reasons,  no  doubt. 
Why  should  they  wish  to  excommunicate  Tolstoi?  But 
they  do !  Believe  me,  there  is  a  time  of  terror  coming  for 
the  religious  world — especially  in  your  great  English  Em- 
pire. And  when  your  good  Queen  dies,  the  trouble 'will 
begin !  " 

Aubrey  was  silent  for  some  minutes. 

"  We  must  work,  Cyrillon !  "  he  said  at  last,  laying  a 
hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder.  "  We  must  work  and  we 
must  never  leave  off  working !  One  man  may  do  much, — 
all  history  proves  the  conquering  force  of  one  determined 
will.  You,  young  as  you  are,  have  persuaded  France  to 
listen  to  you, — I  am  doing  my  best  to  persuade  England 
to  hear  me.  We  are  only  two — but  others  will  follow.  I 
know  it  is  difficult! — it  is  harassing  and  often  heart- 
breaking to  insist  on  Truth  when  the  whole  world's  press 
is  at  work  bolstering  up  false  gods,  false  ideals,  false  art, 
false  sentiment, — but  if  we  are  firm — if  we  hold  an  un- 
flinching faith,  we  shall  conquer !  " 

"  You  are  brave ! "  said  Cyrillon  with  a  glance  of 
mingled  trust  and  admiration.  "  But  you  are  an  excep- 
tion to  the  majority  of  men.  The  majority  are  cruel  and 
treacherous,  and  stupid  as  well.  Dense  stupidity  is  hard 
to  fight  against !  Who  for  example,  do  you  suppose,  will 
understand  the  lesson  of  Donna  Sovrani's  great  picture?  " 

"  All  the  New  World !  "  said  Aubrey,  with  enthusiasm, 
— "  It  is  for  the  New  World — not  the  Old.  And  that  re- 
minds me — to-day  the  picture  is  on  view  to  the  art-critics 


The  Master-Christian.  549 

and  experts  for  the  first  time.  I  prophesy  it  will  be  sold 
at  once !  " 

"  That  would  make  her  father  happy,"  said  Cyrillon 
slowly.  "  But  she — she  will  not  care !  " 

Aubrey  looked  at  him  attentively. 

"  Have  you  seen  her?  " 

"  Yes.  For  a  moment  only.  I  called  at  the  Sovrani 
Palace  and  her  father  received  me.  We  talked  for  some 
time  together.  I  think  he  knows  who  dealt  the  murder- 
ous blow  at  his  daughter,  but  he  says  nothing  positive. 
He  showed  me  the  picture.  It  is  great — sublime !  I 
could  have  knelt  before  it !  Then  he  took  me  to  see  Her 
— and  I  would  have  knelt  still  more  readily !  But — she  is 
changed !  " 

"And — are  you?"  asked  Aubrey  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  Changed  ?  I  ?  No — I  shall  never  change.  I  loved 
her  at  first  sight — I  love  her  still  more  now.  Yet  I  see 
the  truth — she  is  broken-hearted !  " 

''  Time  and  great  tenderness  will  heal  the  wound,"  said 
Aubrey  gently.  "  Meanwhile  have  patience !  " 

Cyrillon  gave  him  a  look  more  eloquent  than  speech, 
and  by  mutual  consent  they  said  no  more  on  the  subject 
of  Angela  just  then. 

Next  morning  at  the  American  Consulate,  Sylvie,  Com- 
tesse  Hermenstein,  was  quietly  married  by  civil  law  to 
Aubrey  Leigh.  The  ceremony  took  place  in  the  presence 
of  the  Princesse  D'Agramont,  Madame  Bozier,  and  Cyril- 
lon Vergniaud.  When  it  was  over  the  wedded  lovers 
and  their  friends  returned  to  the  Sovrani  Palace,  there  to 
join  Angela  who  had  come  down  from  her  sick  room  to 
grace  the  occasion.  She  looked  as  fair  and  fragile  as  the 
delicate  "  Killmeny  "  of  the  poet's  legend,  just  returned 
from  wondrous  regions  of  "  faery,"  though  the  land  poor 
Angela  had  wandered  away  from  was  the  Land  of  Sweet 
Delusion,  which  enchanted  garden  she  would  never  en- 
ter again.  Pale  and  thin,  with  her  beautiful  eyes  droop- 
ing wearily  under  their  dreamy  tired  lids,  she  was  the 
very  ghost  of  her  former  self ; — and  the  child-like  way  in 
which  she  clung  to  her  father,  and  kept  near  her  father 
always,  was  pathetic  in  the  extreme.  When  Sylvie  and 
Aubrey  entered,  with  their  three  companions,  she  ad- 
vanced to  greet  them,  smiling  bravely,  though  her  lips 
quivered. 


550  The  Master-Christian. 

"  All  happiness  be  with  you,  dear !  "  she  said  softly, 
and  she  slipped  a  chain  of  fine  pearls  round  Sylvie's  neck. 
''  These  were  my  mother's  pearls, — wear  them  for  my 
sake !  " 

Sylvie  kissed  her  in  silence, — she  could  not  say  any- 
thing, even  by  the  way  of  thanks, — her  heart  was  too  full. 

"  We  shall  be  very  lonely  without  you,  darling,"  went 
on  Angela.  "  Shall  we  not,  father  ? "  Prince  Pietro 
came  to  her  side,  and  taking  her  hand  patted  it  consolingly 
"  But  we  shall  know  you  are  happy  in  England — and 
we  shall  try  and  come  and  see  you  as  soon  as  I  get  strong, 
— I  want  to  join  my  uncle  and  Manuel.  I  miss  Manuel 
very  much, — he  and  my  father  are  everything  to  me 
now !  " 

She  stretched  out  he:-  hand  to  Aubrey,  who  bent  over  it 
and  kissed  it  tenderly. 

"  You  are  happy  now,  Mr.  Leigh  ?  "  she  said  smiling. 

"  Very  happy !  "  said  Aubrey.  "  May  you  be  as  happy 
soon !  " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  the  smile  passed  from  her  eyes 
and  lips,  leaving  her  face  very  sorrowful. 

"  I  must  work,"  she  said.  "  Work  brings  content — if 
it  does  not  insure  joy."  Her  gaze  involuntarily  wan- 
dered to  her  great  picture,  "  The  Coming  of  Christ," 
which  now,  unveiled  in  all  its  splendour,  occupied  one  end 
of  her  studio,  filling  it  with  a  marvellous  colour  and  glow 
of  light.  "  Yes,  I  must  work !  That  big  canvas  of  mine 
will  not  sell  I  fear !  My  father  was  right.  It  was  a  mis- 
take " — and  she  sighed — "  a  mistake  altogether, — in  more 
ways  than  one !  And  what  is  the  use  of  painting  a  picture 
for  the  world  if  there  is  no  chance  to  let  the  world  see 
it?" 

Prince  Pietro  looked  at  her  benevolently. 

"  Your  father  was  right,  you  think  ?  Well,  Angela 
mia,  I  think  I  had  better  be  the  first  to  own  that  your 
father  was  wrong !  The  picture  is  already  sold ; — that 
is  if  you  consent  to  sell  it !  " 

Angela  turned  very  white.  "  If  I  consent  to  sell  it  ? 
Sell  it to  whom?" 

Sylvie  put  a  caressing  arm  around  her.  "  Your  father 
had  the  news  this  morning,"  she  said,  "  and  we  all  de- 
cided to  tell  it  to  you  as  soon  as  we  came  back  from  the 
Consulate.  A  wedding-surprise  on  our  parts,  Angela! 


The  Master-Christian.  551 

You  know  the  picture  was  on  view  for  the  first  time  yes- 
terday to  some  of  the  critics  and  experts  in  Rome  ?  " 

Angela  made  a  faint  sign  of  assent.  Her  wistful  eyes 
were  full  of  wonder  and  anxiety. 

"  Well,  among  them  was  a  purchaser  for  America — 
Oh,  you  need  not  look  at  me,  my  dear! — I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it !  You  shall  see  the  letter  your  father  re- 
ceived— and  you  shall  decide;  but  the  end  of  the  whole 
matter  is,  Angela,  that  if  you  consent,  the  picture  will 
be  bought,  not  by  any  private  purchaser,  but  by  the 
American  nation." 

"  The  American  nation  !  "  repeated  Angela.  "  Are  you 
really,  really  sure  of  this  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure !  "  said  Sylvie  joyously.  "  And  you  must 
say  good-bye  to  it  and  let  it  go  across  the  wide  ocean — out 
to  the  New  World  all  alone  with  its  grand  and  beautiful 
message, — unless  you  go  with  it  and  show  the  Americans 
something  even  more  perfect  and  beautiful  in  yourself 
than  the  picture ! — and  you  must  be  content  to  take  twenty 
thousand  pounds  for  it,  and  be  acknowledged  as  the 
greatest  painter  of  the  age  as  well !  This  will  be  hard 
work,  Angela  ! but  you  must  resign  yourself !  " 

She  laughed  for  pure  delight  in  her  friend's  triumph, 
— but  Angela  turned  at  once  to  her  father. 

"  Dearest  father !  "  she  said  softly.  "  I  am  glad — for 
your  sake !  " 

He  folded  her  in  his  arms,  too  deeply  moved  to  speak, 
and  then  as  he  felt  her  trembling,  he  led  her  to  a  chair  and 
beckoned  to  Cyrillon  Vergniaud  who  had  stood  apart, 
watching  the  little  scene  in  silence. 

"  Come  and  talk  to  this  dear  girl !  "  he  said.  "  She  is 
not  at  all  a  good  hostess  to-day !  She  ought  to  entertain 
the  bride  and  bridegroom  here, — but  it  seems  as  if  she 
needed  to  be  entertained  herself !  "  And  then,  as  Cyril- 
Ion  obeyed  him,  and  drew  near  the  idol  of  his  thoughts 
with  such  hesitating  reverence  as  might  befit  a  pilgrim 
approaching  the  shrine  of  a  beloved  saint,  he  turned  away 
and  was  just  about  to  speak  to  the  Princesse  D'Agra- 
mont  when  a  servant  entered  and  said  hurriedly — 

"  Monsignor  Gherardi  desires  to  see  Cardinal  Bon- 
pre !  " 

There  was  a  dead  pause.  The  group  of  friends  looked 
at  one  another  in  embarrassment.  Angela  rose  from  her 


552  The  Master-Christian. 

chair  trembling  and  glanced  instinctively  at  her  picture 
— and  for  a  moment  no  one  seemed  quite  certain  what 
should  be  done  next.  The  Princesse  D'Agramont  was 
the  first  to  recover  her  self-possession. 

"  Angela  must  not  be  here,"  she  said.  "  She  is  not 
strong  enough  to  stand  a  scene.  And  no  doubt  Gherardi 
has  come  to  make  one !  We  will  leave  him  to  you,  Mr. 
Leigh — and  to  Gys  Grandit !  " 

She  withdrew  at  once  with  Angela,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment Gherardi  was  ushered  in.  He  glanced  quickly 
•around  him  as  he  made  his  formal  salutation, — his  eyes 
rested  for  a  moment  on  Sylvie  and  Aubrey  Leigh — then 
he  addressed  himself  to  Prince  Pietro. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  intrude  upon  you,  Prince !  "  he  said. 
"  I  have  an  urgent  matter  to  discuss  with  Cardinal  Bon- 
pre,  and  must  see  him  at  once." 

"  I  regret  that  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  gratify  your  de- 
sire, Monsignor,"  said  Prince  Sovrani  with  stiff  courtesy. 
*'  My  brother-in-law  the  Cardinal  left  Rome  last  night." 

"  Left  Rome !  Left  Rome !  "  exclaimed  Gherardi. 
"  Who  gave  him  permission  to  leave  Rome  ?  " 

"  Was  permission  necessary?  "  asked  Aubrey,  stepping 
forward. 

"  I  did  not  address  you,  sir,"  returned  Gherardi  haugh- 
tily. "  I  spoke  to  Prince  Sovrani." 

"  Prince  Sovrani  might  well  decline  to  answer  you," 
said  Aubrey  undauntedly.  "  Were  I  to  make  him  ac- 
quainted with  the  fiendish  plot  you  have  contrived  against 
his  daughter's  fame  and  honour,  he  would  scarcely  allow 
you  to  cross  his  threshold !  " 

Gherardi  stood  still,  breathing  quickly,  but  otherwise, 
unmoved. 

"  Plot  ?  "  he  echoed.  "  You  must  be  mad  !  I  have  no 
plot  against  anyone.  My  business  is  to  uphold  the  cause 
of  truth  and  justice,  and  I  shall  certainly  defend  the  name 
of  the  great  artist  who  painted  that  picture  " — and  he 
pointed  to  Angela's  canvas — "  Florian  Varillo !  Dead  as 
he  is,  his  memory  shall  live !  " 

"  Dead !  "  cried  Prince  Sovrani,  springing  forward. 
"  Dead !  Make  me  sure  of  that,  and  I  will  praise  God 
even  for  your  lying  tongue,  if  it  could  for  once  speak 
such  a  welcome  truth  !  " 

Gherardi    drew    back   amazed,    instinctively    recoiling 


The  Master-Christian.  553 

from  the  flashing  eyes  and  threatening  figure  of  the  irate 
nobleman. 

"  Speak !  "  cried  Sovrani  again.  "  Tell  me  that  the 
murderer  of  my  child's  youth  and  joy  is  dead  and  gone  to 
hell — and  I  will  sing  a  Laus  Deo  at  St.  Peter's !  I  will 
pay  you  a  thousand  pounds  in  masses  to  keep  his  soul  safe 
with  the  devil  to  whom  it  has  gone !  " 

"  Prince  Sovrani,  you  are  in  ignorance  of  the  facts," 
said  Gherardi  coldly.  "  And  you  speak  in  an  anger, 
which  if  what  you  suspect  were  true,  would  be  natural 
enough,  but  which  under  present  circumstances  is  greatly 
misplaced.  The  unfortunate  Florian  Varillo  has  been  ill 
for  many  days  at  a  Trappist  monastery  on  the  Campagna. 
He  had  gone  out  towards  Frascati  on  a  matter  connected 
with  some  business  before  starting  for  Naples,  and  as. 
he  was  returning,  he  was  suddenly  met  by  the  news  of  the 
assassination  of  his  betrothed  wife " 

"  And  he  knew  nothing  of  it "  interposed  Sovrani 

grimly.  "  Of  course he  knew  nothing !  " 

"  He  knew  nothing — how  should  he  know !  "  responded 
Gherardi  calmly — "  The  terrible  shock  threw  him  into  a 

delirium  and  fever he  was  found  in  a  dead  swoon  and 

taken  into  the  monastery  for  shelter.  I  saw  him  there 
only  yesterday." 

He  paused.     No  one  spoke.. 

"He  was  to  have  come  to  Rome  to-day,  and  a  full  ex- 
planation of  his  absence  would  have  been  given.  But 
last  night  the  monastery  was  set  on  fire " 

"  Thank  God !  "  said  Sovrani. 

Gherardi  looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  admirably  af- 
fected sorrowful  reproach. 

"  I  grieve  for  your  injustice  and  cruelty,  Prince!  "  he 
said — "  Some  natural  regret  there  should  surely  be  in 
your  mind  at  the  tragic  end  of  one  so  highly  gifted — one 
whom  you  had  accepted  as  your  future  son-in-law.  He 
met  with  a  terrible  death !  The  monastery  was  set  on 
fire,  as  I  have  told  you — but  the  doors  had  all  been  pre- 
viously locked  within,  it  is  supposed  by  one  of  the  monks 
named  Ambrosio,  who  was  subject  to  fits  of  insanity — 
with  the  tragic  result  that  he  and  Varillo  perished  in  the 
flames,  there  being  no  possibility  of  rescue." 

"  Then  the  guillotine  is  saved  unnecessary  soiling,"  said 
Sovrani  fiercely.  "  And  you,  Monsignor  Gherardi 


554  The  Master-Christian. 

should  have  a  special  '  Jubilate  '  sung  for  the  world  being 
well-rid  of  an  exceptionally  damned  and  damnable  vil- 
lain !  " 

There  was  something  terrific  in  the  aspect  of  Sovrani's 
face  and  threatening  attitude,  and  for  a  moment  Gher- 
ardi hesitated  to  go  on  with  his  prepared  sequence  of 
lies.  Rallying  his  forces  at  last  with  an  effort  he  made 
a  very  good  assumption  of  his  most  authoritative 
manner. 

"  Prince,  I  must  ask  you  to  be  good  enough  to  hear  me 

patiently,"    he    said.     "  Your    mind    has    been    grossly 

'abused,  and  you  are  not  aware  of  the  true  position  of 

affairs.     You  imagine  with  some  few  gossips  in  Rome, 

that  Florian  Varillo,  your  daughter's  betrothed  husband, 

was  guilty  of  the  murderous  attack  upon  her  life you 

are  mistaken !  " 

"  Mistaken ! "  Prince  Pietro  laughed  scornfully. 
""  Prove  my  mistake ! — prove  it !  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word !  "  said  Gherardi.  "  And  I  also 
swear  to  you  that  the  picture  yonder,  which,  though  of- 
fensive to  the  Church  and  blasphemous  in  its  teach- 
ing, is  nevertheless  a  great  masterpiece  of  painting,  is 
the  work  of  the  unfortunate  dead  man  you  so  greatly 
wrong !  " 

"  Liar !  "  And  Cyrillon,  Vergniaud  sprang  forward, 
interposing  himself  between  Sovrani  and  the  priest. 
"Liar!" 

Gherardi  turned  a  livid  white. 

"  Who  is  this  ruffian  ?  "  he  demanded,  drawing  his  tall 
form  up  more  haughtily  than  before.  "  A  servant  of 
yours  ?  " 

"  Ay,  a  servant  of  his,  and  of  all  honest  men !  "  re- 
turned Cyrillon.  "  I  am  one  whom  your  Church  has 
learned  to  fear,  but  who  has  no  fear  of  you ! — one  whom 
you  have  heard  of  to  your  cost,  and  will  still  hear  of, — 
Gys  Grandit !  " 

Gherardi  glanced  him  up  and  down,  and  then  turned 
from  him  in  disgust  as  from  something  infected  by  a 
loathly  disease. 

"  Prince  Sovrani !  "  he  said.  "  I  cannot  condescend  to 
converse  with  a  street  ranter,  such  as  this  misguided  per- 
son, who  has  most  regrettably  obtained  admission  to  your 
house  and  society!  I  came  to  see  your  brother-in-law 


The  Master-Christian.  555 

Cardinal  Bonpre, — who  has  left  Rome,  you  tell  me — 
therefore  my  business  must  be  discussed  with  you  alone. 
I  must  ask  you  for  a  private  audience." 

Sovrani  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"  And  I  must  refuse  it,  Monsignor!  If  in  private  au- 
dience you  wish  to  repeat  the  amazing  falsehood  you 
have  just  uttered  respecting  my  daughter's  work — I  am 
afraid  1  should  hardly  keep  my  hands  off  you !  Believe 
me  you  are  safest  in  company !  " 

Monsignor  Gherardi  paused  a  moment, — then  turned 
towards  Sylvie. 

"  Contessa,"  he  said  very  deliberately.  "  You  can  per- 
haps arrange  this  matter  better  than  I  can.  Florian 
Varillo  is  dead — as  I  have  told  you ;  and  for  stating  what 
I  believe  to  be  the  truth  regarding  him  I  have  been  sub- 
jected to  insult  in  your  presence.  I  have  known  you  for 
many  years  and  I  knew  your  father  before  you, — I  have 
no  wish  to  either  distress  or  offend  you, — do  you  under- 
stand ?  I  am  in  your  hands !  " 

Sylvie  looked  him  full  in  the  face.  "  My  husband  will 
answer  you,  Monsignor,"  she  said.  "  I  am  in  his 
hands ! " 

Gherardi  turned  as  crimson  as  he  had  before  been  pale. 
"  Your  husband !  "  He  strode  forward  with  a  threaten- 
ing movement — then  stopped  short,  as  he  confronted  Au- 
brey Leigh.  "  Your  husband  !  So !  You  are  married 
then !  " — and  he  laughed  fiercely — "  Married  by  the  law, 
and  excommunicated  by  the  Church !  A  pleasant  po- 
sition for  the  last  of  the  Hermensteins !  Contessa,  by 
your  own  act  you  have  ruined  the  fortunes  of  your 
friends !  I  would  have  held  my  peace  at  your  will, — but 
now  all  Rome  shall  know  the  truth !  " 

"  The  truth  according  to  the  convenience  of  papal 
Rome?"  queried  Aubrey  Leigh — "The  truth,  as  ex- 
pounded to  the  Comtesse  Hermenstein  in  your  interview 
with  her  yesterday  ?  " 

Gherardi  looked  him  over  with  superb  indifference. 

"  My  interview  with  the  Comtesse  Hermenstein  was  a 
private  one  " — he  said, — "  And  if  a  spy  was  present,  he 
must  prove  himself  a  spy.  And  we  of  the  Church  do  not 
accept  a  spy's  testimony !  " 

White  with  indignation  Aubrey  sprang  forward, 

but  Cyrillon  Vergniaud  restrained  him. 


556 


The  Master-Christian. 


"  Patience !  "  he  said  in  a  low  tone — "  Let  him  have  his 
way  for  the  moment it  will  then  be  my  turn !  " 

"  My  word  is  law  in  Rome !  " — went  on  Gherardi — 
"  Whatsoever  I  choose  to  say  will  be  confirmed  and  rati- 
fied by  the  greatest  authority  in  the  world — the  Pope !  I 
am  ready  to  swear  that  Florian  Varillo  painted  that  pic- 
ture,— and  the  Pope  is  ready  to  believe  it !  Who  will  ad- 
mit such  a  masterpiece  to  be  a  woman's  work  ?  No  one ! 
Each  member  of  the  house  of  Sovrani  can  bear  witness  to 
the  fact  that  no  one  ever  saw  Angela  Sovrani  painting  it ! 
But  I  know  the  whole  story — I  was  the  last  to  see  Flo- 
rian Varillo  before  his  death- — and  he  confessed  the  truth 
— that  he  had  worked  for  his  betrothed  wife  in  order  to 
give  her  the  greater  fame!  So  that  he  was  not,  and 
could  not  have  been  her  assassin 

"  Then  her  assassin  must  be  found ! "  said  Prince 
Pietro  suddenly.  "  And  the  owner  of  this  sheath — the 
sheath  of  the  dagger  with  which  she  was  stabbed — must 
claim  his  property ! "  And  holding  up  the  sheath  in 
question  before  Gherardi  he  continued — 

;<  This  7  found  !  This  /  traced  !  Varillo's  servant  ad- 
mitted it  to  be  his  master's — Varillo's  mistress  recog- 
nised it  as  her  lover's — a  slight  thing,  Monsignor ! — but 
an  uncomfortable  witness !  And  if  you  dare  to  promul- 
gate your  lie  against  my  daughter  and  her  work,  I  will 
accuse  you  in  the  public  courts  of  complicity  in  an  at- 
tempted murder!  And  I  doubt  whether  the  Pope  will 
judge  it  politic,  or  a  part  of  national  diplomacy,  to  sup- 
port you  then !  " 

For  a  moment  Gherardi  was  baffled.  His  dark  brows 
met  in  a  frown  of  menace  and  his  lips  tightened  with 
his  repressed  fury.  Then, — still  managing  to  speak  with 
the  utmost  composure,  he  said, 

"  You  will  permit  me  to  look  at  this  dagger-sheath — 
this  proof  en  which  you  place  so  much  reliance?  " 

In  the  certainty  of  his  triumph,  old  Sovrani  was  ready 
to  place  it  in  the  priest's  extended  hand,  when  young 
Vergniaud  interposed  and  prevented  him. 

"  No !  You  can  admire  it  from  a  distance,  Monsig- 
nor! You  are  capable  in  your  present  humour  of  tear- 
ing it  to  atoms  and  so  destroying  evidence!  As  the 
'  servant '  of  Prince  Sovrani,  it  is  my  business  to  defend 
him  from  this  possibility !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  557 

Gherardi  raised  his  dark  eyes  and  fixed  them,  full  of 
bitterest  scorn,  on  the  speaker. 

"  So  you  are  Gys  Grandit !  "  he  said  in  accents  which 
thrilled  with  an  intensity  of  hatred.  "  You  are  the  busy 
Socialist,  the  self-advertising  atheist,  who,  like  a  yelping 
cur,  barks  impotently  under  the  wheels  of  Rome!  You 
— Vergniaud's  bastard " 

"  Give  that  name  to  your  children  at  Frascati !  "  cried 
Cyrillon  passionately.  "  And  own  them  as  yours  pub- 
licly, as  my  father  owned  me  before  he  died !  " 

With  a  violent  start,  Gherardi  reeled  back  as  though  he 
had  been  dealt  a  sudden  blow,  and  over  his  face  came  a 
terrible  change,  like  the  grey  pallor  of  creeping  paralysis. 
White  to  the  lips,  he  struggled  for  breath  ...  he  es- 
sayed to  speak, — then  failing,  made  a  gesture  with  his 
hands  as  though  pushing  away  some  invisible  foe. 
Slowly  his  head  drooped  on  his  breast,  and  he  shivered 
like  a  man  struck  suddenly  with  ague.  Startled  and 
awed,  everyone  watched  him  in  fascinated  silence.  Pres- 
ently words  came  slowly  and  with  difficulty  between  his 
dry  lips. 

"  You  have  disgraced  me !  "  he  said  hoarsely "  Are 

you  satisfied  ?  "  He  took  a  step  or  two  close  up  to  the 
young  man.  "I  ask  you — are  you  satisfied?  Or — do 

you  mean  to  go  on —do  you  want  to  ruin  me? " 

Here,  moved  by  uncontrollable  passion  he  threw  up  his 
hands  with  a  gesture  of  despair.  "  God !  That  it  should 

come  to  this !  That  I  should  have  to  ask  you you, 

the  enemy  of  the  Church  I  serve,  for  mercy!  Let  it  be 
enough  I  say ! and  I 1  also  will  be  silent !  " 

Cyrillon  looked  at  him  straightly. 

"  Will  you  cease  to  persecute  Cardinal  Bonpre  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. "  Will  you  admit  Varillo's  murderous  treach- 
ery?" 

Gherardi  bent  his  head. 

"  I  will !  "  he  answered  slowly,  "  because  I  must ! 

Otherwise "  He  clenched  his  fist  and  his  eyes 

flashed  fire — then  he  went  on — "  But  beware  of  Lorenzo 
Moretti !  He  will  depose  the  Cardinal  from  office,  and 
separate  him  from  that  boy  who  has  affronted  the  Pope. 
He  is  even  now  soliciting  the  Holy  Father  to  intervene 
and  stop  the  marriage  of  the  Comtesse  Sylvie  Hermen- 
stein  with  Aubrey  Leigh, — and they  are  married  ! 


558  The  Master-Christian. 

No  more — no  more ! — I  cannot  speak — let  me  go — let  me 
go — you  have  won  your  way ! — I  give  you  my  promise !  " 

"  What  is  your  promise  worth  ?  "  said  Vergniaud  with 
disdain. 

"  Nothing !  "  replied  Gherardi  bitterly.  "  Only  in  this 
one  special  instance  it  is  worth  all  my  life! — all  my  po- 
sition !  You — even  you,  the  accursed  Gys  Grandit ! — you 
have  me  in  your  power !  " 

He  raised  his  head  as  he  said  this, — his  face  expressed 
mingled  agony  and  fury ;  but  meeting  Cyrillon's  eyes  he 
shrank  again  as  if  he  were  suddenly  whipped  by  a  lash, 
and  with  one  quick  stride,  reached  the  door,  and  disap- 
peared. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  his  departure. 
Then  Aubrey  Leigh  spoke. 

"  My  dear  Grandit !  You  are  a  marvellous  man ! 
How  came  you  to  know  Gherardi's  secrets  ?  " 

'  Through  a  section  of  the  Christian-Democratic  party 
here  " — replied  Cyrillon — "  You  must  not  forget  that  I, 
like  you,  have  my  disciples !  They  keep  me  informed  of 
all  that  goes  on  in  Rome,  and  they  have  watched  Domen- 
ico  Gherardi  for  years.  We  all  know  much — but  we  have 
little  chance  to  speak !  If  England  knew  of  Rome  what 
France  knows,  what  Spain  knows, — what  Italy  knows, 
she  would  pray  to  be  given  a  second  Cromwell !  For  the 
time  is  coming  when  she  will  need  him !  " 


XXXVII. 

A  FEW  days  later  the  fashionable  world  of  Europe  was 
startled  by  the  announcement  of  two  things.  One  was 
the  marriage  of  Sylvie,  Countess  Hermenstein,  to  the 
"  would-be  reformer  of  the  clergy,"  Aubrey  Leigh,  cou- 
pled with  her  renunciation  of  the  Church  of*  her  fathers. 
There  was  no  time  for  that  Church  to  pronounce  excom- 
munication, inasmuch  as  she  renounced  it  herself,  of  her 
own  free  will  and  choice,  and  made  no  secret  of  having 
done  so.  Some  of  her  Hungarian  friends  were,  or  ap- 
peared to  be,  scandalized  at  this  action  on  her  part,  but 
the  majority  of  them  treated  it  with  considerable  leniency, 
and  in  some  cases  with  approval,  on  the  ground  that  a 
wife's  religion  ought  to  be  the  same  as  that  of  her  hus- 
band. If  love  is  love  at  all,  it  surely  means  complete 
union ;  and  one  cannot  imagine  a  perfect  marriage  where 
there  is  any  possibility  of  wrangling  over  different  forms 
of  creed.  The  other  piece  of  news,  which  created  even 
more  sensation  than  the  first,  was  the  purchase  of  An- 
gela Sovrani's  great  picture,  "  The  Coming  of  Christ," 
by  the  Americans.  As  soon  as  this  was  known,  the 
crowd  of  visitors  to  the  artist's  studio  assumed  formi- 
dable proportions,  and  from  early  morning  till  late  after- 
noon, the  people  kept  coming  and  going  in  hundreds, 
which  gradually  swelled  to  thousands.  For  by-and-by 
the  history  of  the  picture  got  about  in  disjointed  morsels 
of  information  and  gossip  which  soon  formed  a  con- 
secutive and  fairly  correct  narration.  Experts  criticized 
it, — critics  "  explained  "  it — and  presently  nothing  was 
talked  of  in  the  art  world  but  "  The  Coming  of  Christ " 
and  the  artist  who  painted  it,  Angela  Sovrani.  A 
woman ! — only  a  woman  !  It  seemed  incredible — impos- 
sible !  For  why  should  a  woman  think  ?  Why  should 
a  woman  dare  to  be  a  genius  ?  It  seemed  very  strange ! 
How  much  more  natural  for  her  to  marry  some  decent 
man  of  established  position  and  be  content  with  babies 
and  plain  needlework !  Here  was  an  abnormal  prodigy 

559 


560  The  Master-Christian. 

in  the  ways  of  womanhood, — a  feminine  creature  who 
ventured  to  give  an  opinion  of  her  own  on  something  else 
than  dress, — who  presumed  as  it  were,  to  set  the  world 
thinking  hard  on  a  particular  phase  of  religious  his- 
tory !  Then,  as  one  after  the  other  talked  and  whispered 
and  commented,  the  story  of  Angela's  own  private  suf- 
fering began  to  eke  out  bit  by  bit, — how  she  had  been 
brutally  stabbed  in  her  own  studio  in  front  of  her  own 
picture  by  no  other  than  her  own  betrothed  husband  Flo- 
rian  Varillo,  who  was  moved  to  his  murderous  act  by  a 
sudden  impulse  of  jealousy, — and  how  that  same  Varillo 
had  met  with  his  deserts  in  death  by  fire  in  the  Trappist 
monastery  on  the  Campagna.  And  the  excitement  over 
the  great  picture  became  more  and  more  intense, — espe- 
cially when  it  was  known  that  it  would  soon  be  taken 
away  from  Rome  never  to  be  seen  there  again.  Angela 
herself  knew  little  of  her  rapidly  extending  fame, — she 
was  in  Paris  with  the  Princesse  D'Agramont  who  had 
taken  her  there  immediately  after  Monsignor  Gherardi's 
visit  to  her  father.  She  was  not  told  of  Florian  Varillo's 
death  till  she  had  been  some  days  in  the  French  capital, 
and  then.it  was  broken  to  her  as  gently  as  possible.  But 
the  result  was  disastrous.  The  strength  she  had  slowly 
regained  seemed  now  to  leave  her  altogether,  and  she 
was  stricken  with  a  mute  despair  which  was  terrible  to 
witness.  Hour  after  hour,  she  lay  on  a  couch,  silent  and 
motionless, — her  large  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  her  little 
white  hands  clasped  close  together  as  though  in  a  very 
extremity  of  bodily  and  mental  anguish,  and  the  Princesse 
D'Agramont,  who  watched  her  and  tended  her  with  the 
utmost  devotion,  was  often  afraid  that  all  her  care  would 
be  of  no  avail,  and  that  her  patient  would  slip  through 
her  hands  into  the  next  world  before  she  had  time  to 
even  attempt  to  save  her.  And  Cyrillon  Vergniaud,  un- 
happy and  restless,  wandered  up  and  down  outside  the 
house,  where  this  life,  so  secretly  dear  to  him,  was  poised 
as  it  were  on  the  verge  of  death,  not  daring  to  enter,  or 
even  enquire  for  news,  lest  he  should  hear  the  worst. 

One  cold  dark  afternoon  however,  as  he  thus  paced  to 
and  fro,  he  saw  the  Princesse  D'Agramont  at  a  window 
beckoning  him,  and  with  a  sickening  terror  at  his  heart, 
he  obeyed  the  signal. 

"  I  wish  vou  would  come  and  talk  to  her !  "  said  the 


The  Master-Christian.  561 

Princesse  as  she  greeted  him,  with  tears  in  her  bright 
eyes.  "  She  must  be  roused  from  this  apathy.  I  can  do 
nothing  with  her.  But  I  think  you  might  do  much  if  you 
would !  " 

"  I  will  do  anything — anything  in  the  wide  world !  " 
said  Cyrillon  earnestly.  "  Surely  you  know  that !  " 

"  Yes — but  you  must  not  be  too  gentle  with  her !  I  do 
not  mean  that  you  should  be  rough — God  forbid ! — but  if 

you  would  speak  to  her  with  authority if  you  could 

tell  her  that  she  owes  her  life  and  her  work  to  the  world 
to  God- — " 

She  broke  off,  not  trusting  herself  to  say  more.  Cyril- 
Ion  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  I  understand !  "  he  said.  "  You  know  I  have  hesi- 
tated— because — I  love  her!  I  cannot  tell  her  not  to 
grieve  for  her  dead  betrothed,  when  I  myself  am  longing 
to  take  his  place !  " 

The  Princesse  smiled  through  her  tears. 

'  The  position  is  difficult  I  admit !  "  she  said,  with  a 
returning  touch  of  playfulness — "  But  the  very  fact  of 
your  love  for  her  should  give  you  the  force  to  command 
her  back  to  life.  Come !  " 

She  took  him  into  the  darkened  room  where  Angela 
lay — inert,  immovable,  with  always  the  same  wide-open 
eyes,  blank  with  misery  and  desolation,  and  said  gently, 

"Angela,  will  you  speak  to  Gys  Grandit?" 

Angela  turned  her  wistful  looks  upon  him,  and  essayed 
a  poor  little  ghost  of  a  smile.  Very  gently  Cyrillon  ad- 
vanced and  sat  down  beside  her, — and  with  equal  gentle- 
ness, the  Princesse  D'Agramont  withdrew.  Cyrillon's 
heart  beat  fast ;  if  he  could  have  lifted  that  frail  little  form 
of  a  woman  into  his  arms  and  kissed  away  the  sorrow 
consuming  it,  he  would  have  been  happy, — but  his  mis- 
sion was  that  of  a  friend,  not  lover,  and  his  own  emo- 
tions made  it  hard  for  him  to  begin.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  make  up  your  mind  to  get 
well,  dear  friend  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  piteously. 

"  Make  up  my  mind  to  get  well  ?  I  shall  never  be  well 
again !  " 

"  You  will  if  you  resolve  to  be,"  said  Cyrillon.  "  It 
rests  with  you !  " 

She  was  silent. 


562  The  Master-Christian. 

"Have  you  heard  the  latest  news  from  Rome?"  he 
asked  after  a  pause. 

She  made  a  faint  sign  in  the  negative. 

Cyrillon  smiled. 

"  The  Church  has  with  all  due  solemnity  anathematized 
your  picture  as  an  inspiration  of  the  Evil  One !  But  it  is 
better  that  it  should  be  so  anathematized  than  that  it 
should  be  reported  as  not  your  own  work.  Between  two 
lies,  the  emissaries  of  the  Vatican  have  chosen  the  one 
least  dangerous  to  themselves." 

Angela  sighed  wearily. 

"You  do  not  care?"  queried  Cyrillon.  "Neither 
anathema  nor  lie  has  any  effect  on  you  ?  " 

She  raised  her  left  hand  and  looked  dreamily  at  the 
circlet  of  rubies  on  it — Florian  Varillo's  betrothal  ring. 

"  I  care  for  nothing,"  she  said  slowly.  "  Nothing — 
now  he  is  gone !  " 

A  bitter  pang  shot  through  Cyrillon's  heart.  He  was 
quite  silent.  Presently  she  turned  her  eyes  wistfully  to- 
wards him. 

"  Please  do  not  think  me  ungrateful  for  all  your  kind- 
ness ! — but — I  cannot  forget !  " 

"  Dear  Donna  Sovrani,  may  I  speak  to  you  fully  and 
frankly — as  a  friend  ?  May  I  do  so  without  offence  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  and  saw  how  pale  he  was,  how  his 
lips  trembled,  and  the  consciousness  that  he  was  unhappy 
moved  her  to  a  faint  sense  of  compunction. 

"  Of  course  you  may !  "  she  answered  gently.  "  I 
know  you  do  not  hate  me." 

"  Hate  you ! "  Cyrillon  paused,  his  eyes  softening 
with  a  great  tenderness  as  they  rested  upon  her.  "  Who 
could  hate  you  ?  " 

"  Florian  hated  me,"  she  said.  "  Not  always, — no ! 
He  loved  me  once !  Only  when  he  saw  my  picture,  then 
his  love  perished.'  Ah,  my  Florian !  Had  I  known,  I 
would  have  destroyed  all  my  work  rather  than  have  given 
him  a  moment's  pain !  " 

"  And  would  that  have  been  right  ?  "  asked  Cyrillon 
earnestly.  "  Would  not  such  an  act  have  been  one  of 
selfishness  rather  than  sacrifice?" 

A  faint  color  crept  over  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  Selfishness  ? " 

"  Yes !     Your  love  for  him  was  quite  a  personal  mat- 


The  Master-Christian.  563 

ter, — but  your  work  is  a  message  to  the  world.  You 
would  have  sacrificed  the  world  for  his  sake,  even  though 
he  had  murdered  you  !  " 

"  I  would !  "  she  answered,  and  her  eyes  shone  like 
stars  as  she  spoke.  "  The  world  is  nothing  to  me ;  love 
was  everything !  " 

"  That  is  your  way  of  argument,"  said  Cyrillon.  "  But 
it  is  not  God's  way !  " 

She  was  silent,  but  her  looks  questioned  him. 

"  Genius  like  yours,"  he  went  on,  "  is  not  given  to  you 
for  yourself  alone.  You  cannot  tamper  with  it,  or  play 
with  it,  for  the  sake  of  securing  a  little  more  temporal 
happiness  or  peace  for  yourself.  Genius  is  a  crown  of 
thorns, — not  a  wreath  of  flowers  to  be  worn  at  a  feast 
of  pleasure !  You  wished  your  life  to  be  one  of  love, — 
God  has  chosen  to  make  it  one  of  suffering.  You  say  the 
world  is  nothing  to  you, — then  my  dear  friend,  God  in- 
sists that  it  shall  be  something  to  you!  Have  you  the 
right — I  ask  you,  have  you  the  right  to  turn  away  from 
all  your  fellow  mortals  and  say — '  No — because  I  have 
been  disappointed  in  my  hope  and  my  love,  then  I  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  life — I  will  turn  away  from  all 
who  need  my  help— I  will  throw  back  the  gifts  of  God 
with  scorn  to  the  Giver,  and  do  nothing  simply  because  I 
have  lost  what  I  myself  specially  valued ! ' 

Her  eyes  fell  beneath  his  straight  clear  regard,  and  she 
moved  restlessly.. 

"  Ah  you  do  not  know — you  do  not  understand !  "  she 
said.  "  I  am  not  thinking  of  myself — indeed  I  am  not ! 
But  I  feel  as  if  my  work — my  picture — had  killed 
Florian !  I  hate  myself ! — I  hate  everything  I  have  ever 
done,  or  could  ever  possibly  do.  I  see  him  night  and 
day  in  those  horrible  flames ! — Oh  God !  those  cruel 
flames ! — he  seems  to  reproach  me, — even  to  curse  me  for 
his  death !  " 

She  shuddered  and  turned  her  face  away.  Cyrillon 
ventured  to  take  her  hand. 

'  That  is  not  like  you,  clear  friend !  "  he  said,  his  rich 
voice  trembling  with  the  pity  he  felt  for  her.  '  That  is 
not  like  your  brave  spirit !  You  look  only  at  one  aspect 
of  grief — you  see  the  darkness  of  the  cloud,  but  not  its 
brighter  side.  If  I  were  to  say  that  he  whom  you  loved 
so  greatly  has  perhaps  been  taken  to  save  him  from  even 


564  The  Master-Christian 

a  worse  fate,  you  would  be  angry  with  me.  You  loved 
him — yes ;  and  whatever  he  did  or  attempted  to  do,  even 
to  your  injury,  you  would  have  loved  him  still  had  he 
lived !  That  is  the  angel  half  of  woman's  nature.  You 
would  have  given  him  your  fame  had  he  asked  you  for  it, 
— you  would  have  pardoned  him  a  thousand  times  over 
had  he  sought  your  pardon, — you  would  have  worked  for 
him  like  a  slave  and  been  content  to  die  with  your  genius 
unrecognized  if  that  would  have  pleased  him.  Yes  I 
know !  But  God  saw  your  heart — and  his — and  with 
God  alone  rests  the  balance  of  justice.  You  must  not 
set  yourself  in  opposition  to  the  law ;  you, — such  a  har- 
monious note  in  work  and  life, — must  not  become  a 
discord !  " 

She  did  not  speak.  Her  hand  lay  passively  in  his,  and 
he  went  on. 

"  Death  is  not  the  end  of  life.  It  is  only  the  beginning 
of  a  new  school  of  experience.  Your  very  grief, — your 
present  inaction,  may  for  all  we  know,  be  injuring  the  soul 
of  the  man  whose  loss  you  mourn ! " 

She  sighed. 

"  Do  you  think  that  possible ?  " 

"  I  do  think  it  very  possible,"  he  answered.  "  Natural 
sorrow  is  not  forbidden  to  us, — but  a  persistent  dwelling 
on  cureless  grief  is  a  trespass  against  the  law.  Moreover 
you  have  been  endowed  with  a  great  talent, — it  is  not 
your  own — it  is  lent  to  you  to  use  for  others,  and  you  have 
no  right  to  waste  it.  The  world  has  taken  your  work  with 
joy,  with  gratitude,  with  thanksgiving;  will  you  say  that 
you  do  not  care  for  the  world  ? — that  you  will  do  nothing 
more  for  it? — Because  one  love — one  life,  has  been  taken 
from  you,  will  you  discard  all  love,  all  life  ?  Dear  friend, 
that  will  not  be  reasonable, — not  right,  nor  just,  nor 
brave !  " 

A  wistful  longing  filled  her  eyes. 

"  I  wish  Manuel  were  here !  "  she  said  plaintively.  "  He 
would  understand !  " 

"  Manuel  is  with  Cardinal  Bonpre  in  London,"  re- 
plied Cyrillon.  "  I  heard  from  Aubrey  yesterday  that 
they  are  going  about  together  among  the  poor,  doing 
good  everywhere.  Would  you  like  to  join  them?  Your 
friend  Sylvie  would  be  glad  to  have  you  stay  with  her,  I 
arn*  sure." 


The  Master-Christian.  565 

She  gave  a  hopeless  gesture. 

"  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  go "  she  began. 

"  You  will  be  strong  enough  when  you  determine  to 
be,"  said  Cyrillon.  "  Your  frightened  soul  is  making  a 
coward  of  your  body !  " 

She  started  and  drew  her  hand  away  from  his  gentle 
clasp. 

"  You  are  harsh !  "  she  said,  looking  at  him  straightly. 
"  I  am  not  frightened — I  never  was  a  coward !  " 

Something  of  the  old  steady  light  came  back  to  her 
eyes,  and  Cyrillon  inwardly  rejoiced  to  see  it. 

"  My  words  seem  rough,"  he  said,  "  but  truly  they  are 
not  so.  I  repeat,  your  soul  is  frightened — yes !  frightened 
at  the  close  approach  of  God !  God  is  never  so  near  to  us 
as  in  a  great  sorrow ;  and  when  we  feel  His  presence  al- 
most within  sight  and  touch,  we  are  afraid.  But  we 
must  not  give  way  to  fear;  we  must  not  grovel  in  the 
dust  and  hide  ourselves  as  if  we  were  ashamed !  We 
must  rise  up  and  grow  accustomed  to  His  glory,  and  let 
Him  lead  us  where  He  will !  " 

He  paused,  for  Angela  was  weeping.  The  sound  of  her 
low  sobbing  smote  him  to  the  heart. 

"  Angela Angela !  "  he  whispered,  more  to  himself 

than  to  her.  "  Have  I  hurt  you  so  much  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  she  murmured  between  her  tears.  "  You 

have  hurt  me  ! — but  you  are  right you  are  quite  right ! 

I  am  selfish — weak — cowardly — ungrateful  too ; — but  for- 
give me, — have  patience  with  me ! — I  will  try — I  will  try 
to  bear  it  all  more  bravely — I  will  indeed !  " 

He  rose  from  her  side  and  paced  the  room,  not  trust- 
ing himself  to  speak.  She  looked  at  him  anxiously  and 
endeavoured  to  control  her  sobs. 

"  You  are  angry?  " 

"  Angry !  "  He  came  back,  and  lifting  her  suddenly, 
but  gently  like  a  little  child,  he  placed  her  in  an  easy  sit- 
ting position,  leaning  cosily  among  her  pillows.  "  Come !  " 
he  said  smiling,  as  the  colour  flushed  her  cheeks  at  the 
swiftness  of  his  action — "  Let  the  Princesse  D'Agramont 
see  that  I  am  something  of  a  doctor!  You  will  grow 
weaker  and  weaker  lying  down  all  day-— I  want  to  make 
you  strong  again !  Will  you  help  me  ?  " 

He  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  her  own  fell  before  his 
earnest,  reverent,  but  undisguisedly  tender  glance. 


566 


The  Master-Christian. 


"  I  will  try  to  do  what  you  wish,"  she  said.  "  If  I  fail 
you  must  forgive  me but  I  will  honestly  try !  " 

"  If  you  try, you  will  succeed" — said  Cyrillon,and  bend- 
ing down,  he  kissed  the  trembling  little  hands — "  Ah  !  for- 
give me !  If  you  knew  how  dear  your  life  is to to 

many,  you  would  not  waste  it  in  weeping  for  what  cannot 
be  remedied  by  all  your  tears !  I  will  not  say  one  word 
against  the  man  you  loved — for  you  do  not  say  it,  and  you 
are  the  most  injured; — he  is  dead — let  him  rest; — but  life 
claims  you, — claims  me  for  the  moment ; — our  fellow-men 
and  women  claim  our  attention,  our  work,  our  doing  for 
the  best  and  greatest  while  we  can, — our  duty  is  to  them, 
— not  to  ourselves !  Will  you  for  your  father's  sake — for 
the  world's  sake — if  I  dared  say,  for  my  sake ! — will  you 
throw  off  this  torpor  of  sorrow?  Only  you  can  do  it, — 
only  you  yourself  can  command  the  forces  of  your  own 
soul !  Be  Angela  once  more ! — the  guiding  angel  of  more 
lives  than  you  know  of! — 

His  voice  sank  to  a  pleading  whisper. 

"  I  will  try !  "  she  answered  in  a  low  voice "  I  prom- 
ise!—" 

And  when  the  Princess  D'Agramont  entered  she  was 
surprised  and  overjoyed  to  find  her  patient  sitting  up  on 
her  couch  for  the  first  time  in  many  days,  talking  quietly 
with  the  Perseus  she  had  sent  to  rescue  the  poor  Androm- 
eda from  the  jaws  of  a  brooding  Melancholia  which 
might  have  ended  in  madness  or  death.  With  her  pres- 
ence the  conversation  took  a  lighter  tone — and  by-and-by 
Angela  found  herself  listening  with  some  interest  to  the 
reading  of  her  father's  last  letter  addressed  to  her  kind 
hostess. 

"  Angela's  picture  is  gone  out  of  Rome  " — he  wrote — 
"  It  was  removed  from  the  studio  in  the  sight  of  an  enor- 
mous crowd  which  had  assembled  to  witness  its  departure. 
The  Voce  Delia  Verita  has  described  it  as  a  direct  inspira- 
tion of  the  devil,  and  suggests  the  burning-down  of  the 
studio  in  which  it  was  painted,  as  a  means  of  purifying 
the  Sovrani  Palace  from  the  taint  of  sulphur  and  brim- 
stone. La  Croix  demands  the  excommunication  of  the 
artist,  which  by  the  way  is  very  likely  to  happen.  The 
Osserz'atore  Romano  wishes  that  the  ship  specially  char- 
tered to  take  it  to  America,  may  sink  with  all  on  board. 
All  of  which  kind  and  charitable  wishes  on  the  part  of 


The  Master-Christian.  567 

the  Vatican  press  have  so  augmented  the  fame  of  '  The 
Coming  of  Christ '  that  the  picture  could  hardly  be  got 
through  the  crush  of  people  craning  their  necks  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  it.  It  is  now  en  route  via  Bordeaux  for  Lon- 
don, where  it  is  to  be  exhibited  for  six  weeks.  As  soon 
as  I  have  finished  superintending  the  putting  by  of  a  few 
home  treasures  here,  I  shall  join  you  in  Paris,  when  I 
hope  to  find  my  dear  girl  nearly  restored  to  her  usual  self. 
It  will  please  her  to  know  that  her  friend  the  charming 
Sylvie  is  well  and  very  happy.  She  was  married  for  the 
second  time  before  a  Registrar  in  London,  and  is  now,  as 
she  proudly  writes,  '  well  and  truly  '  Mrs.  Aubrey  Leigh, 
having  entirely  dropped  her  title  in  favour  of  her  hus- 
band's plainer,  but  to  her  more  valuable  designation.  Of 
course  spiteful  people  will  say  she  ceased  to  be  Countess 
Hermenstein  in  order  not  to  be  recognized  too  soon  as  the 
'  renegade  from  the  Roman  Church,'  but  that  sort  of  thing 
is  to  be  expected.  Society  never  gives  you  credit  for 
honest  motives,  but  only  for  dishonest  ones.  We  who 
know  Sylvie,  also  know  what  her  love  for  her  husband  is, 
and  that  it  is  love  alone  which  inspires  all  her  actions 
in  regard  to  him.  Her  chief  anxiety  at  present  seems  to 
be  about  Angela's  health,  and  she  tells  me  she  telegraphs 
to  you  every  day  for  news " 

"  Is  that  true  ?  "  asked  Angela,  interrupting  the  read- 
ing of  her  father's  letter.  "  Does  Sylvie  in  all  her  new 
happiness,  actually  think  of  me  so  much  and  so  often  ?  " 

"  Indeed  she  does !  "  replied  the  Princess  D'Agramont. 
"  Chere  enfant,  you  must  not  look  at  all  the  world  through 
the  cloud  of  one  sorrow !  We  all  love  you ! — we  are  all 
anxious  to  see  you  quite  yourself  again !  " 

Angela's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  they  rested  on  her 
friend's  kindly  face,  a  face  usually  so  brilliant  in  its  ani- 
mated expression,  but  now  saddened  and  worn  by  constant 
watching  and  fatigue. 

"  You  are  far  too  good  to  me,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice — 
"  And  I  am  most  unworthy  of  all  your  attention." 

Loyse  D'Agramont  paid  no  heed  to  this  remark,  but  re- 
sumed reading  the  Prince  Sovrani's  epistle 

"  Let  me  see !  .  .  .  Sylvie — yes here  it  is — '  She 

telegraphs  to  you  every  dav  for  news,  which  is  apparently 
the  onlv  extravagance  she  is  guilt v  of  111^t  now.  She  and 
her  husband  have  taken  rooms  in  some  very  poor  neigh- 


568  The  Master-Christian 

bourhood  of  London,  and  are  beginning  work  in  real 
earnest.  Our  good  Felix  and  his  cherished  foundling  have 
been  with  them  into  many  wretched  homes,  cheering  the 
broken-hearted,  comforting  the  sick,  and  assuring  all 
those  who  doubt  it  that  there  is  a  God  in  spite  of  priest- 
craft,— and  I  have  received  an  English  paper  which  an- 
nounces that  Mr.  Aubrey  Leigh  will  give  one  of  his  fam- 
ous "  Addresses  to  the  People  "  on  the  last  day  of  the 
year.  I  should  like  to  hear  him,  though  my  very  slight 
knowledge  of  English  would  be  rather  against  me  in  the 
comprehension  of  what  he  might  say.  For  all  other  news 
you  must  wait  till  we  meet.  Expect  me  in  Paris  in  a  few 
days,  and  ask  my  Angela  to  rouse  herself  sufficiently  to 
give  her  old  father  a  smile  of  welcome.  My  compliments 
to  "  Gys  Grandit,"  and  to  you  the  assurance  of  my  de- 
voted homage.  Pietro  Sovrani.' " 

The  Princesse  folded  up  the  letter  and  looked  wistfully 
at  Angela. 

"  You  will  give  him  the  smile  of  welcome  he  asks  for, 
will  you  not,  little  one?  "  she  asked.  "  You  are  all  he  has 
in  the  world,  remember !  " 

"  I  do  remember,"  murmured  Angela.    "  I  know !  " 

"  Aubrey  and  his  wife  are  '  beginning  work  in  real 
earnest ' !  "  said  Cyrillon.  "  And  how  much  their  work 
will  mean  to  the  world !  More  than  the  world  can  at  pres- 
ent imagine  or  estimate !  It  seems  to  be  a  settled  thing 
that  the  value  of  great  work  shall  never  be  recognised 
during  the  worker's  lifetime,  but  only  afterwards — when 
he  or  she  who  was  so  noble,  so  self-sacrificing,  or  so  far- 
seeing,  shall  have  passed  beyond  the  reach  of  envy,  scorn 
and  contumely,  into  other  regions  of  existence  and  de- 
velopment. The  finest  deeds  are  done  without  acknowl- 
edgment or  reward,  and  when  the  hero  or  heroine  has 
gone  beyond  recall,  the  whole  world  stands  lamenting  its 
blindness  for  not  having  known  or  loved  them  better. 
Donna  Sovrani  " — and  his  voice  softened — "  will  also 
soon  begin  again  to  work,  like  Aubrey  and  Sylvie,  '  in  real 
earnest.'  Will  she  not?" 

Angela  raised  her  eyes,  full  of  sadness,  yet  also  full  of 
light. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  will !  I  will  work  my  grief  into 
a  glory  if  I  can !  And  the  loss  of  world's  love  shall  teach 
me  to  love  God  more !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  569 

Loyse  D'Agramont  embraced  her. 

"  That  is  my  Angela !  "  she  said.  "  That  is  what  I 
wanted  you  to  feel to  know for  I  too  have  suf- 
fered !  " 

"  I  know  you  have — and  I  should  have  remembered 
it !  "  said  Angela,  penitently.  "  But — I  have  been  frozen 

with  grief paralysed  in  brain  and  heart,  and  I  have 

forgotten  so  many  things !  "  She  trembled  and  closed  her 
eyes  for  a  moment, — then  went  on — "  Give  me  a  little 
time — a  few  more  days ! — and  I  will  prove  that  I  am  not 

ungrateful  for  your  love "  She  hesitated,  and  then 

turning,  gave  her  hand  to  Cyrillon, "  or  for  your 

friendship." 

He  bent  over  the  little  hand  and  kissed  it  reverently, 
and  soon  afterwards  took  his  leave,  more  light  of  heart, 
and  more  hopeful  in  spirit,  than  he  had  been  for  many 
days.  He  felt  he  could  now  go  on  with  his  work,  part 
of  which  was  the  task  of  distributing  the  money  his 
father  had  left  him,  among  the  poor  of  Paris.  He  consid- 
ered that  to  leave  money  to  the  poor  after  death  is  not  half 
such  a  Christian  act  as  to  give  it  while  alive.  Distributors, 
secretaries,  lawyers,  and  red-tapeism  come  in  with  the  dis- 
posal of  wealth  after  we  are  gone  ; — but  to  give  it  to  those 
in  need  with  our  own  hands — to  part  with  it  freely  and  to 
deny  ourselves  something  in  order  to  give  it, — that  is  do- 
ing what  Christ  asked  us  to  do.  And  whether  we  are 
blessed  or  cursed  by  those  whom  we  seek  to  benefit,  none 
can  take  away  from  us  the  sweet  sense  of  peace  and  com- 
fort which  is  ours  to  enjoy,  when  we  know  that  we  have 
in  some  small  measure  tried  to  serve  our  Divine  Master, 
for  the  "  full  measure  "  of  content,  "  pressed  down  and 
running  over  "  which  He  has  promised  to  those  who 
"  freely  give,"  has  never  yet  been  known  to  fail. 

And  Cyrillon  Vergniaud  was  given  this  happiness  of 
the  highest,  purest  kind,  as  with  the  aid  of  the  wondering 
and  reluctant  Monsieur  Andre  Petitot,  he  gave  poor  fam- 
ilies comfort  for  life,  and  rescued  the  sick  and  the  sor- 
rowful,— and  all  he  reserved  to  himself  from  his  father's 
large  fortune  was  half  a  million  francs.  For  he  learned 
that  most  of  the  money  he  inherited  had  come  to  the  late 
Abbe  through  large  bequests  left  to  him  by  those  who  had 
believed  in  him  as  a  righteous  priest  of  spotless  reputa- 
tion, and  Cyrillon's  conscience  would  not  allow  him  to> 


570  I  he  Master-Christian. 

take  advantage  of  money  thus  obtained,  as  he  sternly  told 
himself,  "  on  false  pretences." 

"  My  father  would  not  have  wished  me  to  keep  it  after 
his  public  confession,"  he  said.  "  And  I  will  not  possess 
more  than  should  have  been  spared  in  common  justice  to 
aid  my  mother's  life  and  mine.  The  rest  shall  be  used  for 
the  relief  of  those  in  need.  And  I  know, — if  I  told  An- 
gela— she  would  not  wish  it  otherwise !  " 

So  he  had  his  way.  And  while  his  prompt  help  and 
personal  supervision  of  the  distribution  of  his  wealth 
brought  happiness  to  hundreds  of  homes,  he  was  re- 
warded by  seeing  Angela  grow  stronger  every  day.  The 
hue  of  health  came  gradually  back  to  her  fair  cheeks, — 
her  eyes  once  more  recovered  their  steadfast  brightness 
and  beauty,  and  as  from  time  to  time  he  visited  her  and 
watched  her  with  all  the  secret  passion  and  tenderness 
he  felt,  his  heart  grew  strong  within  him. 

"  She  will  love  me  one  day  if  I  try  to  deserve  her  love," 
he  thought.  "  She  will  love  me  as  she  has  never  loved  yet ! 
No  woman  can  understand  the  true  worth  of  love,  unless 
her  lover  loves  her  more  than  himself !  This  is  a  joy  my 
Angela  has  not  yet  been  given, — it  will  be  for  me  to  give 
it  to  her!" 


XXXVIII. 

WITH  the  entry  of  Angela's  great  picture  "  The  Com- 
ing of  Christ"  into  London,  where  it  became  at  once  the 
centre  of  admiration,  contention  and  general  discussion, 
one  of  the  most  singular  "  religious  "  marriage  ceremo- 
nies ever  known, took  place  in  a  dreary  out-lying  district 
of  the  metropolis,  where  none  but  the  poorest  of  the  poor 
dwell,  working  from  dawn  till  night  for  the  merest  pit- 
tance which  scarcely  pays  them  for  food  and  lodging.     It 
was  one  of  Aubrey  Leigh's  "centres,"  and  to  serve  his 
needs  for  a  church  he  had  purchased  a  large  wooden 
structure   previously   used    for  the   storing  of   damaged 
mechanical  appliances,  such  as  wrorn-out  locomotives,  old 
railway  carriages,  and  every  kind  of  lumber  that  could 
possibly  accumulate  anywhere  in  a  dock  or  an  engine 
yard.     The  building  held  from  three  to  four  thousand 
people  closely  packed,  and  when  Leigh  had  secured  it 
for  his  own,  he  was  as  jubilant  over  his  possession  as  if 
the  whole  continent  of  Europe  had  subscribed  to  build 
him  a  cathedral.    He  had  the  roof  mended  and  made  rain- 
proof, and  the  ground  planked  over  to  make  a  decent 
flooring, — then  he  iiad  it  painted  inside  a  dark  oak  colour, 
and  furnished  it  with  rows  of  benches.    At  the  upper  end 
a  raised  platform  was  erected,  and  in  the  centre  of  that 
platform  stood  a  simple  Cross  of  roughly  carved  dark 
wood,  some  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  in  height.     There  was 
no  other  adornment  in  the  building, — the  walls  remained 
bare,  the  floor  unmatted,  the  seats  uncushioned.    No  sub- 
scriptions were  asked  for  its  maintenance ;  no  collection 
plate  was  ever  sent  around,  yet  here,  whenever  Leigh  an- 
nounced a  coming  "  Address,"  so  vast  a  crowd  assembled 
that  it  was  impossible  to  find  room  for  all  who  sought  ad- 
mittance.   And  here,  on  one  cold  frosty  Sunday  morning, 
with  the  sun  shining  brightly  through  the  little  panes  of 
common  glass  which  had  been  inserted  to  serve  as  win- 
dows, he  walked  through  a  densely  packed  and  expectant 
throng  of  poor,  ill-clad,  work-worn,  yet  evidently  earnest 


572  The  Master-Christian. 

and  reverent  men  and  women,  leading  his  fair  wife  Syl- 
vie,  clad  in  bridal  white,  by  the  hand,  up  .to  the  plat- 
form, and  there  stood  facing  the  crowd.  He  was  followed 
by  Cardinal  Bonpre  and — Manuel.  The  Cardinal  wore 
no  outward  sign  of  his  ecclesiastical  dignity, — he  was 
simply  attired  in  an  ordinary  priest's  surtout,  and  his  tall 
dignified  figure,  his  fine  thoughful  face  and  his  reverend 
age,  won  for  him  silent  looks  of  admiration  and  respect 
from  many  who  knew  nothing  of  him  or  of  the  Church  to 
which  he  belonged,  but  simply  looked  upon  him  as  a  friend 
of  their  idolized  teacher,  Aubrey  Leigh.  Manuel  passed 
through  the  crowd  almost  unnoticed,  and  it  was  only 
when  he  stood  near  the  Cross,  looking  down  upon  the 
upturned  thousands  of  faces,  that  a  few  remarked  his 
presence.  The  people  had  assembled  in  full  force  on  this 
occasion,  an  invitation  having  gone  forth  in  Leigh's  name 
asking  them  "  to  be  witnesses  of  his  marriage,"  and  the 
excitement  was  intense,  as  Sylvie,  veiled  as  a  bride, 
obeyed  the  gentle  signal  of  her  husband,  and  took  her  seat 
on  the  platform  by  the  side  of  the  Cardinal  on  the  left 
hand  of  the  great  Cross,  against  which  Manuel  leaned 
lightly  like  a  child  who  is  not  conscious  of  observation, 
but  who  simply  takes  the  position  which  seems  to  him 
most  natural.  And  when  the  subdued  murmuring  of  the 
crowd  had  died  into  comparative  silence,  Aubrey,  advanc- 
ing a  little  to  the  front  of  the  Cross,  spoke  in  clear  ringing 
tones,  which  carried  music  to  the  ears  and  conviction  to 
the  heart. 

"  My  friends !  I  have  asked  you  all  here  in  your  thou- 
sands, to  witness  the  most  sacred  act  of  my  human  life 
— my  marriage !  By  the  law  of  this  realm, — by  the  law 
of  America,  the  country  of  my  birth, — that  marriage  is  al- 
ready completed  and  justified, — but  no  '  religious  '  cere- 
mony has  yet  been  performed  between  myself  and  her 
whom  I  am  proud  and  grateful  to  call  wife.  To  my  mind 
however,  a  '  religious  '  ceremony  is  necessary,  and  I  have 
chosen  to  hold  it  here, — with  you  who  have  listened  to  me 
in  this  place  many  and  many  a  time, — with  you  as  wit- 
nesses to  the  oath  of  fidelity  and  love  I  am  about  to  take 
in  the  presence  of  God !  There  is  no  clergyman  present — 
no  one  to  my  knowledge  of  any  Church  denomination  ex- 
cept a  Cardinal  of  the  Church  of  Rome  who  is  my  guest 
and  friend,  but  who  takes  no  part  in  the  proceedings. 


The  Master-Christian.  573 

The  Cross  alone  stands  before  you  as  the  symbol  of  the 
Christian  faith, — and  what  I  swear  by  that  symbol  means 
for  me  a  vow  that  shall  not  be  broken  either  in  this  world, 
or  in  the  world  to  come !  I  need  scarcely  tell  you  that  this 
is  not  the  usual  meaning  of  marriage  in  our  England  of  to- 
day. There  is  much  blasphemy  in  the  world,  but  one  of 
the  greatest  blasphemies  of  the  age  is  the  degradation  of 
the  sacrament  of  matrimony, — the  bland  tolerance  with 
which  an  ordained  priest  of  Christ  presumes  to  invoke  the 
blessing  of  God  upon  a  marriage  between  persons  whom 
he  knows  are  utterly  unsuited  to  each  other  in  every  way, 
who  are  not  drawn  together  by  love,  but  only  by  worldly 
considerations  of  position  and  fortune.  I  have  seen  these 
marriages  consummated.  I  have  seen  the  horrible  and 
often  tragic  results  of  such  unholy  union.  I  have  known 
of  cases  where  a  man,  recognized  as  a  social  blackguard 
of  the  worst  type,  whose  ways  of  life  are  too  odious  to  be 
named,  has  been  accepted  as  a  fitting  mate  for  a  young 
innocent  girl  just  out  of  school,  because  he  is  a  Lord  or 
a  Duke  or  an  Earl.  Anything  for  money !  Anything  for 
the  right  to  stand  up  and  crow  over  your  neighbours ! 
When  an  inexperienced  girl  or  woman  is  united  for  life  to 
a  loathsome  blackguard,  an  open  sensualist,  a  creature  far 
lower  than  the  beasts,  yet  possessed  of  millions,  she  is 
'congratulated  '  as  being  specially  to  be  envied,  when  as  a 
matter  of  strict  honesty,  it  would  be  better  if  she  were  in 
her  grave.  The  prayers  and  invocations  pronounced  at 
such  marriages  are  not '  religious/ — they  are  mere  profan- 
ity !  The  priest  who  says  '  Those  whom  God  hath  joined 
together  let  no  man  put  asunder,'  over  such  immoral 
wedlock,  is  guilty  of  a  worse  sacrilege  than  if  he  trampled 
on  the  bread  and  wine  of  Christ's  Communion!  For 
marriage  was  not  intended  to  be  a  mere  union  of  bodies, 
— but  a  union  of  souls.  It  is  the  most  sacred  bond  of 
humanity.  From  the  love  which  has  created  that  bond, 
is  born  new  life, — life  which  shall  be  good  or  evil  accord- 
ing to  the  spirit  in  which  husband  and  wife  are  wedded. 
'  The  sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited  on  the  children,' 
— and  the  first  and  greatest  sin  is  bodily  union  without 
soul-love.  It  is  merely  a  form  of  animal  desire, — and 
from  desire  alone  no  good  or  lofty  thing  can  spring.  We 
are  not  made  to  be  '  as  the  beasts  that  perish ' — though 
materialists  and  sensualists  delight  in  asserting  such  to  be 


574  The  Master-Christian. 

our  destiny,  in  order  to  have  ground  whereon  to  practise 
their  own  vices.  This  planet,  the  earth,  is  set  under  our 
dominion ;  the  beasts  are  ours  to  control, — they  do  not 
control  us.  Our  position  therefore  is  one  of  supremacy. 
Let  us  not  voluntarily  fall  from  that  position  to  one  even 
lower  than  the  level  of  beasts  !  The  bull,  the  goat,  the  pig, 
are  moved  by  animal  desire  alone  to  perpetuate  their  kind 
— but  we, — we  have  a  grander  mission  to  accomplish  than 
theirs — we  in  our  union  are  not  only  responsible  for  the 
Body  of  the  next  generation  to  come,  but  for  the  brain, 
the  heart,  the  mind,  and  above  all  the  Soul !  If  we  wed  in 
sin,  our  children  must  be  born  in  sin.  If  we  make  our 
marriages  for  worldly  advantage,  vanity,  blind  desire,  or 
personal  convenience,  our  children  will  be  moulded  on 
those  passions,  and  grow  up  to  be  curses  to  the  world  they 
live  in.  Love,  and  love  only  of  the  purest,  truest,  and 
highest  kind,  must  be  the  foundation  of  the  marriage 
Sacrament, — love  that  is  prepared  to  endure  all  the 
changes  of  fate  and  fortune — love  that  is  happy  in  work- 
ing and  suffering  for  the  thing  beloved — love  that  counts 
nothing  a  hardship, — neither  sickness,  nor  sorrow,  nor 
poverty,  provided  it  can  keep  its  faith  unbroken !  " 

He  paused — there  was  a  slight  stir  among  the  audience, 
but  otherwise  not  a  sound.  Sylvie  sat  quiet,  a  graceful, 
nymph-like  figure,  veiled  in  her  cloudy  white — Cardinal 
Bonpre's  mild  blue  eyes  raised  to  the  speaker's  face,  were 
full  of  rapt  attention — and  Manuel  still  leaning  against 
the  great  Cross  seemed  absorbed  in  dreamy  and  beautiful 
thoughts  of  his  own. 

"  I  should  like,"  went  on  Aubrey  with  increasing 
warmth  and  passion,  "  to  tell  you  what  I  mean  by  '  faith 
unbroken.'  It  is  the  highest  form  of  love, — the  only  firm 
rock  of  friendship.  It  leaves  no  room  for  suspicion. — no 
place  for  argument — no  cause  for  contradiction.  It  is 
the  true  meaning  of  the  wedding-ring.  Apart  from  mar- 
riage altogether,  it  is  the  only  principle  that  can  finally 
civilize  and  elevate  man.  So  long  as  we  doubt  God  and 
mistrust  our  fellows,  so  long  must  corruption  sway  busi- 
ness, and  wars  move  nations.  The  man  who  gives  us 
cause  to  suspect  his  honesty, — the  man  who  forces  us  to 
realize  the  existence  of  treachery,  is  a  worse  murderer 
than  he  who  stabs  us  bodily  to  death ;  for  he  has  tainted 
our  soul ;  he  has  pushed  us  back  many  steps  on  our  jour- 


The  Master-Christian.  575 

ney  Gochvard,  and  has  made  us  wonder  and  question 
whether  in  truth  a  God  can  exist  who  tolerates  in  His  uni- 
verse such  a  living  lie !  It  is  only  when  we  have  to  con- 
template a  broken  faith  that  we  doubt  God  !  For  a  broken 
faith  is  an  abnormal  prodigy  in  the  natural  scheme  of 
the  universe — a  discord  in  the  eternal  music  of  the  stars ! 
There  are  no  treacheries,  no  falsifying  of  accounts,  in  the 
Divine  order  of  the  Law.  The  sun  does  not  fail  to  rise 
each  morning,  whether  clouds  obscure  the  sky  or  not, — 
the  moon  appears  at  her  stated  seasons  and  performs  her 
silver-footed  pilgrimage  faithfully  to  time — the  stars 
move  with""  precision  in  their  courses, — and  so  true  are 
they  to  their  ordainment,  that  we  are  able  to  predict  the 
manner  in  which  they  will  group  themselves  and  shine, 
years  after  we  have  passed  away.  In  the  world  of  Xa- 
ture  the  leaves  bud,  and  the  birds  nest  at  the  coming  of 
Spring ;  the  roses  bloom  in  Summer — the  harvest  is  gath- 
ered in  Autumn, — the  whole  marvellous  system  moves 
like  a  grand  timepiece  whose  hands  are  never  awry,, 
whose  chimes  never  fail  to  ring  the  exact  hour, — 
and  in  all  the  splendour  of  God's  gifts  to  us  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  broken  faith !  Only  we, — 
we,  the  creatures  He  has  endowed  with  '  His  own 
image,' — Free-will, — break  our  faith  with  Him  and 
with  each  other.  And  so  we  come  to  mischief,  in- 
asmuch as  broken  faith  is  no  part  of  God's  Intention. 
And  when  two  persons,  man  and  woman,  swear  to  be  true 
to  each  other  before  God,  so  long  as  life  shall  last,  and 
afterwards  break  that  vow,  confusion  and  chaos  result 
from  their  perjury,  and  all  the  pestilential  furies  attend- 
ing on  a  wrong  deed  whip  them  to  their  graves !  In  these 
times  of  ours,  when  wars  and  rumours  of  wars  shake  the 
lethargic  souls  of  too-exultant  politicians  and  statesmen 
with  anxiety  for  themselves  if  -not  for  their  country,  we 
hear  every  day  of  men  and  women  breaking  their  mar- 
riage vows  as  lightly  as  though  God  were  not  existent, — 
we  read  of  princes  whose  low  amours  are  a  disgrace  to 
the  world — of  dukes  and  earls  who  tolerate  the  unchastity 
of  their  wives  in  order  that  they  themselves  may  have  the 
more  freedom, — of  men  of  title  and  position  who  even  sell 
their  wives  to  their  friends  in  order  to  secure  some  much- 
needed  cash  or  social  advantage, — and  while  our  law  is 
busy  night  and  day  covering  up  '  aristocratic  '  crimes 
from  publicity,  and  showing  forth  the  far  smaller  sins  of 


The  Master-Christian. 

hard-working  poverty,  God's  law  is  at  work  in  a  totally 
different  way.  The  human  judge  may  excuse  a  king's 
vices, — but  before  God  there  are  neither  kings  nor  com- 
moners, and  punishment  falls  where  it  is  due !  Christ 
taught  us  that  the  greatest  crime  is  treachery,  for  of 
Judas  He  said  '  it  were  better  for  that  man  that  he  had 
never  been  born,'  and  for  the  traitor  and  perjurer  death 
is  not  the  end,  but  the  beginning,  of  evils.  Against  the 
man  who  accepts  the  life  of  a  woman  given  to  him  in  trust 
and  love,  and  then  betrays  that  life  to  misery,  all  Nature 
arrays  itself  in  opposition  and  disaster.  We,  as  observers 
of  the  great  Play  of  human  existence,  may  not  at  once  see, 
among  the  numerous  shifting  scenes,  where  the  evil-doer 
is  punished,  or  the  good  man  rewarded, — but  wait  till  the 
end ! — till  the  drop-curtain  falls — and  we  shall  see  that 
there  is  no  mistake  in  God's  plan — no  loophole  left  for 
breaking  faith  even  with  a  child, —  no  'permit'  existing 
anywhere  to  destroy  the  life  of  the  soul  by  so  much  as  one 
false  or  cruel  word!  It  is  with  a  deep  sense  of  the  ex- 
act balance  of  God's  justice,  that  I  stand  before  you  to- 
day, my  friends,  and  ask  you  without  any  accepted  ritual 
or  ceremonial  to  hear  ray  vows  of  marriage.  She  to  whom 
I  pledge  my  word  and  life,  is  one  who  in  the  world's  eyes 
is  accounted  great,  because  rich  in  this  world's  goods, — 
but  her  wealth  has  no  attraction  for  me,  and  for  my  own 
self  I  would  rather  she  had  been  poor.  Nevertheless, 
were  she  even  greater  than  she  is, — a  crowned  queen  with 
many  kingdoms  under  her  control,  and  I  but  the  poorest 
of  her  servants,  nothing  could  undo  the  love  we  have  for 
each  other, — nothing  could  keep  our  lives  asunder !  Love 
and  love  only  is  our  bond  of  union — sympathy  of  mind 
and  heart  and  spirit;  wealth  and  rank  would  have  been 
but  causes  of  division  between  us  if  love  had  not  been 
greater.  The  world  will  tell  you  differently — the  world 
will  say  that  I  have  married  for  money — but  you  who 
know  me  better  than  the  world,  will  feel  by  my  very 
words  addressed  to  you  to-day  that  my  marriage  is  a 
true  marriage,  in  which  no  grosser  element  than  love  can 
enter.  My  wife's  wealth  remains  her  own — settled  upon 
her  absolutely  and  always,  and  I  am  personally  as  poor  as 
when  I  first  came  among  you  and  proved  to  you  that  hard 
work  was  a  familiar  friend.  But  I  am  rich  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  helpmate  God  has  given  me,  and  with  the  ut- 


The  Master-Christian.  577 

most  gratitude  and  humility  I  ask  you  to  bear  witness  to 
the  fact  that  this  day  before  you  and  in  the  presence  of 
the  symbol  of  the  Christian  faith,  I  take  my  oath  to  be 
true  to  her  and  only  her  while  life  shall  last !  " 

Here  going  to  where  Sylvie  stood,  he  took  her  by  the 
hand,  and  led  her  to  the  front  of  the  platform.  Then  he 
turned  again  to  his  eager  and  expectant  audience. 

".In  your  presence,  my  friends,  and  in  the  presence  of 
God  and  before  the  Cross,  I  take  Sylvie  Hermenstein  to 
be  my  wedded  wife!  I  swear  to  devote  myself  to  her, 
body  and  soul, — to  cherish  her  first  and  last  of  all  human 
creatures, — to  be  true  to  her  in  thought,  word  and  deed, 
— to  care  for  her  in  sickness  as  in  health,  in  age  as  in 
youth, — to  honour  her  as  my  chiefest  good, — and  to  die 
faithful  to  her  in  this  world, — hoping  by  the  mercy  of 
God  to  complete  a  more  perfect  union  with  her  in  the 
world  to  come !  In  the  name  of  Christ,  Amen !  " 

And  then  Sylvie  threw  back  her  veil  and  turned  her 
enchanting  face  upon  the  crowd, — a  face  fairer  than  ever, 
irradiated  by  the  love  and  truth  of  her  soul, — and  the  peo- 
ple gazed  and  wondered,  and  wondering  held  their  breath 
as  her  clear  accents  rang  through  the  silence. 

"  In  your  presence,  and  in  the  presence  of  God  and  be- 
fore the  Cross,  I  take  Aubrey  Leigh  to  be  my  wedded 
husband !  I  swear  to  devote  myself  to  him  body  and  soul, 
to  cherish  him  first  and  last  of  all  human  creatures, — to 
be  true  to  him  in  thought,  word  and  deed, — to  care  for 
him  in  sickness  as  in  health,  in  age  as  in  youth, — to  honour 
him  as  my  chiefest  good, — and  to  die  faithful  to  him  in 
this  world, — praying  God  in  His  mercy  to  complete  a 
more  perfect  union  with  him  in  the  world  to  come.  In  the 
name  of  Christ,  Amen !  " 

Then  Aubrey,  taking  his  wife's  hand,  placed  for  the 
first  time  on  her  finger  the  golden  wedding-ring. 

"  In  the  presence  of  you  all,  before  God,  I  place  this 
ring  upon  my  wife's  hand  as  a  symbol  of  unbreaking  faith 
and  loyalty !  I  pledge  my  life  to  hers ;  and  promise  to  de- 
fend her  from  all  evil,  to  shelter  her,  to  work  for  her,  and 
to  guard  her  with  such  tenderness  as  shall  not  fail !  I 
swear  my  faith ;  and  may  God  forsake  me  if  I  break  my 
vow!" 

And  Sylvie  without  hesitation,  responded  in  her  sweet 
clear  voice. 


578 


The  Master-Christian. 


"  In  the  presence  of  you  all,  before  God,  I  take  this 
ring  and  wear  it  as  a  symbol  of  my  husband's  trust  in  me, 
and  a  token  of  his  love!  I  pledge  my  life  to  his;  and 
promise  to  uphold  the  honour  of  his  name, — to  obey  him 
in  every  just  and  rightful  wish, — to  defend  his  actions, — 
to  guard  his  home  in  peace  and  good  report, — and  to  sur- 
round him  with  such  tenderness  as  shall  not  fail !  I  swear 
my  faith ;  and  may  God  forsake  me  if  I  break  my  vow !  " 

There  followed  a  deep  and  almost  breathless  silence. 
Then  Aubrey  spoke  once  more,  standing  before  the 
throng  with  Sylvie  by  his  side  and  her  hand  clasped  in  his. 

"  I  thank  you  all,  my  friends !  Strange  and  unlike  all 
marriage  ceremonies  as  ours  is  to-day,  I  feel  that  it  is  a 
sacred  and  a  binding  one !  Your  thousands  of  eyes  and 
ears  have  heard  and  seen  us  swear  our  marriage  vows — 
your  thousands  of  hearts  and  minds  have  understood  the 
spirit  in  which  we  accept  this  solemn  sacrament !  I  will 
ask  you  before  we  go,  to  kneel  down  with  us  and  repeat 
'  The  Prayer  of  Heart-searching '  which  I  have  said  with 
you  so  often,  and  to  then  quietly  disperse." 

In  one  moment  the  vast  crowd  was  kneeling,  and  Car- 
dinal Bonpre's  aged  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  emotion  as 
he  saw  all  these  human  beings,  moved  by  one  great  wave 
of  sympathy,  prostrate  themselves  before  the  simple  Cross 
where  the  wedded  lovers  knelt  also,  and  where  Manuel 
alone  stood,  like  one  who  is  too  sure  of  God  to  need  the 
help  of  prayer. 

And  Aubrey,  thrilled  to  the  heart  by  the  consciousness 
that  all  the  members  of  that  huge  congregation  were  with 
him  in  his  ideal  dream  of  Christian  Union,  offered  up  this 
supplication — 

"  All-powerful  God !  Most  loving  and  beneficent  Crea- 
tor of  the  Universe!  We  Thy  creatures,  who  partake 
with  Thee  the  endowment  of  immortality,  now  beseech 
Thee  to  look  upon  us  here,  kneeling  in  adoration  before 
Thee !  Search  our  hearts  and  souls  with  the  light  of  Thy 
revealing  Holy  Spirit,  and  see  if  in  any  of  us  there  is  con- 
cealed an  unworthy  thought,  or  doubt,  or  distrust,  or 
scorn  of  Thy  unfailing  goodness !  We  ask  Thee  to  dis- 
cover our  sins  and  imperfections  to  ourselves,  and  so  in- 
struct us  as  to  what  is  displeasing  to  Thee,  that  we  may 
remedy  these  wilful  blots  upon  Thy  fair  intention.  Give 
us  the  force  and  fervour,  the  wisdom  and  truth,  to  find 


The  Master-Christian.  579 

and  follow  the  way  Thou  wouldst  have  us  go, — and  if 
our  strength  should  fail,  constrain  us,  oh  God,  to  come 
to  Thee,  whether  we  learn  by  sorrow  or  joy,  by  punish- 
ment or  pity ; — constrain  us,  so  that  we  may  find  Thee, 
whatever  else  we  lose !  Let  the  great  searchlight  of  Thy 
truth  be  turned  upon  the  secret  motives  of  our  hearts  and 
minds,  and  if  there  be  one  of  us  in  whom  such  motives 
be  found  false,  impure,  cruel  or  cowardly,  then  let  Thy 
just  wrath  fall  upon  the  misguided  creature  of  Thy  love, 
and  teach  him  or  her,  obedience  and  repentance!  We 
pray  that  Thou  wilt  punish  us,  oh  God,  when  we  have 
sinned,  that  we  may  know  wherein  we  have  offended  our 
dear  Father ; — and  equally,  when  we  have  sought  to  serve 
Thee  faithfully,  may  we  receive  Thy  blessing!  Make  us 
one  with  Thee  in  Thy  perfect  plan  of  good ;  teach  us  how 
to  work  Thy  will  in  the  fulfilment  of  peace  and  joy;  make 
our  lives  of  use  to  this  world,  and  our  deaths  gain  to  the 
next,  and  let  the  glory  of  Thy  love  encompass  us,  guide 
us,  and  defend  us  now  and  forever,  through  Christ  our 
Lord,  Amen." 

After  he  had  ceased,  there  was  a  deep  silence  for  many 
minutes,  then  all  the  people  as  if  moved  by  one  impulse, 
rose  from  their  knees,  and  standing,  sang  the  following 
stanzas,  which  Aubrey  had  taught  them  when  he  first  be- 
gan to  preach  among  them  his  ideals  of  love  and  labour. 


*  If  thou'rt  a  Christian  in  deed  and  thought, 
Loving  thy  neighbour  as  Jesus  taught, — 
Living  all  days  in  the  sight  of  Heaven, 
And  not  one  only  out  of  seven, — 
Sharing  thy  wealth  with  the  suffering  poor, 
Helping  all  sorrow  that  Hope  can  cure, — 
Making  religion  a  truth  in  the  heart, 
And  not  a  cloak  to  be  worn  in  the  mart, 
Or  in  high  cathedrals  and  chapels  and  fanes, 
Where  priests  are  traders  and  count  the  gains, — 
All  God's  angels  will  say,  "  Well  done  !" 
Whenever  thy  mortal  race  is  run. 
White  and  forgiven, 
Thou'lt  enter  heaven. 

And  pass,  unchallenged,  the  Golden  Gate, 
Where  welcoming  spirits  watch  and  wait 
To  hail  thy  coming  with  sweet  accord 
To  the  Holy  City  of  God  the  Lord  ! 

*  By  the  late  Charles  Mackay,  LL   D  .  F   S.  A* 


580  The  Master-Christian. 

If  Peace  is  thy  prompter,  and  Love  is  thy  guide. 
And  white-robed  Charity  walks  by  thy  side, — 
If  thou  tellest  the  truth  without  oath  to  bind, 
Doing  thy  duty  to  all  mankind, — 
Raising  the  lowly,  cheering  the  sad, 
Finding  some  goodness  e'en  in  the  bad, 
And  owning  with  sadness  if  badness  there  be, 
There  might  have  been  badness  in  thine  and  in  thee, 
If  Conscience  the  warder  that  keeps  thee  whole 
Had  uttered  no  voice  to  thy  slumbering  soul, — 

All  God's  angels  will  say,  "  Well  done  !  " 

Whenever  thy  mortal  race  is  run. 
White  and  forgiven, 
Thou'lt  enter  heaven, 

And  pass,  unchallenged,  the  Golden  Gate, 

Where  welcoming  spirits  watch  and  wait 

To  hail  thy  coming  with  sweet  accord 

To  the  Holy  City  of  God  the  Lord  ! 

If  thou  art  humble,  and  wilt  not  scorn. 
However  wretched,  a  brother  forlorn,— 
If  thy  purse  is  open  to  misery's  call, 
And  the  God  thou  lovest  is  God  of  all, 
Whatever  their  colour,  clime  or  creed, 
Blood  of  thy  blood,  in  their  sorest  need,— 
If  every  cause  that  is  good  and  true, 
And  needs  assistance  to  dare  and  do, 
Thou  helpest  on  through  good  and  ill, 
With  trust  in  Heaven,  and  God's  good  will,— 

All  God's  angels  will  say,  "  Well  done  !  " 

Whenever  thy  mortal  race  is  run. 
White  and  forgiven, 
Thou'lt  enter  heaven, 

And  pass,  unchallenged, the  Golden  Gate, 

Where  welcoming  spirits  watch  and  wait 

To  hail  thy  coming  with  sweet  accord 

To  the  Holy  City  of  God  the  Lord  ! 

The  effect  of  the  last  eight-line  chorus  sung  by  thou- 
sands of  voices,  was  marvellous.  Such  a  spirit  of  exalta- 
tion pervaded  the  music  that  the  common  wooden  shed- 
like  building  in  which  these  followers  of  one  earnest  man 
asserted  their  faith  in  God  rather  than  in  a  Church, 
seemed  to  take  upon  itself  all  the  architectural  beauty  of  a 
temple  costing  millions  of  money.  When  the  singing 
ceased,  Aubrey  raised  his  hand,  and  while  his  audience 
yet  remained  standing,  pronounced  the  blessing. 

"  God  be  with  you  all,  my  friends ! — in  your  hearts  and 
lives  and  daily  conduct !  May  none  of  you  here  present 
shadow  His  brightness  by  one  dark  deed  or  thought  of 
evil!  I  will  ask  you  to  pray  that  God  may  be  with  me 
too,  and  with  my  beloved  wife,  the  future  partner  of  all 


The  Master-Christian.  581 

my  work,  my  joys  and  sorrows,  that  we  may  in  our  union 
make  our  lives  useful  to  you  and  to  all  others  who  seek 
our  help  or  care.  God's  blessing  be  upon  us  all  in  the 
name  of  Christ  our  Saviour !  " 

And  with  one  accord  the  people  answered  "  Amer  !  " 
Then  this  brief  service  6ver,  they  began  to  disperse. 
Without  any  scramble  or  rush,  but  in  perfect  order  and 
with  quiet  and  reverent  demeanour,  they  left  their  seats 
and  began  to  make  their  way  out.  None  of  them  were 
seen  gossiping  together,  or  smiling  or  nodding  over  each 
other's  shoulders  as  is  very  often  the  case  when  a  congre- 
gation disperses  from  a  fashionable  church.  For  these 
people  in  their  worship  of  the  Creator,  found  some- 
thing reverent,  something  earnest,  something  true, 
valuable  and  necessary  to  daily  living, — and  though 
there  were  two  peaceful-looking  constables  stationed 
at  the  door  of  egress,  their  services  were  not  re- 
quired to  either  keep  order  or  compel  any  of  those 
thousands  of  poor  to  "  move  on."  They  kept  order  for 
themselves,  and  were  too  busy  with  practical  life  and 
thought,  to  hang  about  or  gossip  on  the  way  to  their  vari- 
ous homes.  Several  members  of  the  congregation  on 
hearing  that  their  friend  Leigh  was  going  to  take  his  mar- 
riage vows  before  them  all,  had  provided  themselves  with 
flowers,  and  these  managed  to  pass  in  front  of  the  plat- 
form where,  simply  and  without  ostentation,  they  handed 
up  their  little  bouquets  and  clusters  of  such  blossoms  as 
they  had  been  able  to  obtain  and  afford  in  winter, — vio- 
lets especially,  and  white  chrysanthemums,  and  one  or 
two  rare  roses.  These  floral  offerings  meant  much  sac- 
rifice on  the  part  of  those  who  gave  them, — and  the  tears 
filled  Sylvie's  eyes  as  she  noted  the  eagerness  with  which 
poor  women  with  worn  sad  faces,  and  hands  wrinkled  and 
brown  with  toil,  handed  up  their  little  posies  for  her  to 
take  from  them,  or  laid  them  with  a  touching  humility  at 
her  feet.  What  a  wonderful  wedding  hers  was,  she 
thought! — far  removed  from  all  the  world  of  fashion, 
without  any  of  the  hypocritical  congratulations  of  "  so- 
ciety "  friends, — without  the  sickening,  foolish  waste,  ex- 
pense and  artificiality,  which  nowadays  makes  a  marriage 
a  mere  millinery  parade.  She  had  spoken  her  vows  be- 
fore thousands  whom  her  husband  had  helped  and  res- 
cued from  heathenism  and  misery,  and  all  their  good 


582  The  Master-Christian. 

wishes  and  prayers  for  her  happiness  were  wedding  gifts 
such  as  no  money  could  purchase.  With  a  heart  full  of 
emotion  and  gratitude  she  watched  the  crowd  break  up 
and  disappear,  till  when  the  last  few  were  passing  out  of 
the  building,  she  said  to  her  husband — 

"  Let  us  leave  the  flower?  they  have  given  me  here, 
Aubrey, — here,  just  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross  where  you 
have  so  often  spoken  to  them.  I  shall  feel  they  will  bring 
me  a  blessing !  " 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  sweetheart !  "  he  answered 
tenderly, — "  and  I  must  thank  you  for  having  entered  so 
readily  into  the  spirit  of  this  strange  marriage  before  my 
poor  friends,  Sylvie, — for  it  must  have  seemed  very 
strange  to  you ! — and  yet  believe  me, — no  more  binding 
one  was  ever  consummated !  "  He  took  her  hand  and 
kissed  it, — then  turned  to  Cardinal  Bonpre,  who  had  risen 
and  was  gazing  round  the  bare  common  building  with 
dreamy  eyes  of  wistful  wonderment. 

"  I  thank  you  too,  my  dear  friend !  You  have  learned 
something  of  my  work  since  we  came  to  London,  and  I 
think  you  understand  thoroughly  the  true  sanctity  and 
force  of  my  marriage  ?  " 

"  I — do ! — I  do  understand  it !  "  said  the  Cardinal 
slowly.  "  And  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  all  marriage 
vows  could  be  so  solemnly  and  truly  taken !  But  my 

heart  aches my  heart  aches  for  the  world !  These 

thousands  you  have  helped  and  taught  are  but  a  few, — 
and  they  were  as  you  have  told  me,  little  better  than 
heathen  when  you  came  amongst  them  to  tell  them  the 
true  meaning  of  Christ's  message — what  of  the  millions 
more  waiting  to  know  \vhat  the  Church  is  failing  to 
teach  ?  What  have  the  priests  of  the  Lord  been  doing  for 
nearly  two  thousand  years,  that  there  should  still  be 
doubters  of  God !  " 

Over  his  face  swept  a  shadow  of  deep  pain,  and  at  that 
moment  Manuel  left  the  Cross  where  he  had  been  leaning 
and  came  up  and  stood  beside  him.  The  Cardinal  looked 
at  his  waif  wistfully. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  this  service,  my  child  ?  " 

"  I  thought  that  the  Master  of  all  these  His  servants 
could  not  be  very  far  away !  "  answered  Manuel  softly, 
— "  And  that  if  He  came  suddenly,  He  would  find  none 
sleeping !  " 


The  Master-Christian.  583 

"  May  it  prove  so !  "  said  Aubrey  fervently.  "  But  we 
own  ourselves  to  be  unprofitable  servants  at  best, — we  can 
only  try  to  fulfil  our  Lord's  commands  as  nearly  to  the 
letter  as  possible, — and  we  often  fail; — but  we  do  hon- 
estly make  the  effort.  Shall  we  go  now,  my  lord  Car- 
dinal? You  look  fatigued." 

Bonpre  sighed  heavily.  "  My  spirit  is  broken,  my 
3on !  "  he  answered.  "  I  dare  not  think  of  what  will  hap- 
pen— what  is  beginning  to  happen  for  the  Christian 
world !  I  shall  not  live  to  see  it ;  but  I  have  sinned,  in 
passing  my  days  in  too  much  peace.  Dwelling  for  many 
years  away  in  my  far-off  diocese,  I  have  forgotten  the 
hurrying  rush  of  life.  I  should  have  been  more  active  long 
ago, — and  I  fear  I  shall  have  but  a  poor  account  to  give 
of  my  stewardship  when  I  am  called  to  render  it  up. 
This  is  what  troubles  both  my  heart  and  my  conscience !  " 

"  Dear  friend,  you  have  no  cause  for  trouble !  "  said 
Sylvie  earnestly.  "  Among  all  the  servants  of  our  Mas- 
ter surely  you  are  one  of  the  most  faithful ! " 

"  One  of  the  most  faithful,  and  therefore  considered 
one  of  the  most  faithless !  "  said  Manuel.  "  Come,  let  us 
go  now, — and  leave  these  bridal  flowers  where  the  bride 
wishes  them  to  be, — at  the  foot  of  the  Cross,  as  a  sym- 
bol of  her  husband's  sendee!  Let  us  go, — the  Cardinal 
has  need  of  rest." 

They  returned  to  their  respective  homes, — Aubrey  and 
his  wife  to  a  little  tenement  house  they  had  taken  for  a 
few  weeks  in  the  district  in  order  that  Sylvie  might  be 
able  to  see  and  to  study  for  herself  the  sad  and  bitter  lives 
of  those  who  from  birth  to  death  are  deprived  of  all  the 
natural  joys  of  happy  and  wholesome  existence, — whose 
children  are  born  and  bred  up  in  crime, — where  girls  are 
depraved  and  ruined  before  they  are  in  their  teens, — and 
where  nothing  of  God  is  ever  taught  beyond  that  He  is  a 
Being  who  punishes  the  wicked  and  rewards  the  good, — 
and  where  in  the  general  apathy  of  utter  wretchedness, 
people  decide  that  unless  there  is  something  given  them 
in  this  world  to  be  good  for,  they  would  rather  be  bad 
like  the  rest  of  the  folks  they  see  about  them.  '  The  Car- 
dinal and  Manuel  dwelt  in  rooms  not  very  far  away,  and 
every  day  and  every  hour  almost  was  occupied  by  them 
in  going  among  these  poor,  helpless,  hopeless  ones  of  the 
world,  bringing  them  comfort  and  aid  and  sympathy. 


584  The  Master-Christian. 

Wherever  Manuel  went,  there  brightness  followed ;  the 
sick  were  healed,  the  starving  were  fed,  the  lonely  and 
desolate  were  strengthened  and  .encouraged,  and  the  peo- 
ple who  knew  no  more  of  the  Cardinal  than  that  "  he  was 
a  priest  of  some  sort  or  other,"  began  to  watch  eagerly 
for  the  appearance  of  the  Cardinal's  foundling,  "  the 
child  that  seemed  to  love  them,"  as  they  described  him, — 
and  to  long  for  even  a  passing  glimpse  of  the  fair  face, 
the  steadfast  blue  eyes  the  tender  smile,  of  one  before 
whom  all  rough  words  were  silenced — all  weeping  stilled. 
But  on  this  night  of  all — the  night  of  Sylvie's  "  re- 
ligious "  marriage,  the  Cardinal  was  stricken  by  a  heavy 
blow.  He  had  expected  some  misfortune,  but  had  not 
realized  that  it  would  be  quite  so  heavy  as  it  proved.  The 
sum  and  substance  of  his  trouble  was  contained  in  a  "  con- 
fidential "  letter  from  Monsignor  Moretti,  and  was 
worded  as  follows — 

"  MY  LORD  CARDINAL, — It  has  come  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  Holy  Father  that  you  have  not  only  left  Rome 
without  signifying  the  intention  of  your  departure  to  the 
Vatican  as  custom  and  courtesy  should  have  compelled 
you  to  do,  but  that  instead  of  returning  to  your  rightful 
diocese,  you  have  travelled  to  London,  and  are  there  en- 
gaged in  working  with  the  socialist  and  heretic  Aubrey 
Leigh,  who  is  spreading  pernicious  doctrine  among  the  al- 
ready distracted  and  discordant  of  the  poorer  classes.  This 
fact  has  to  be  coupled  with  the  grave  offence  committed 
against  the  Holy  Father  by  the  street-foundling  to  whom 
you  accord  your  favour  and  protection,  and  whose  origin 
yon  are  unable  to  account  for ;  and  the  two  things  taken  to- 
gether, constitute  a  serious  breach  of  conduct  on  the  part 
of  so  eminent  a  dignitary  of  the  Church  as  yourself,  and 
compel  the  Holy  Father  most  unwillingly  and  sorrow- 
fully to  enquire  whether  he  is  justified  in  retaining  among 
his  servants  of  the  Holy  See  one  who  so  openly  betrays  its 
counsels  and  commands.  It  is  also  a  matter  of  the  deep- 
est distress  to  the  Holy  Father,  that  a  picture  painted  by 
your  niece  Donna  Angela  Sovrani  and  entitled  '  The  Com- 
ing of  Christ,'  in  which  the  Church  itself  is  depicted  as 
under  the  displeasure  of  our  Lord,  should  be  permitted  to 
contaminate  the  minds  of  the  nations  by  public  exhibition. 
Through  the  Vatican  press,  the  supreme  Pontiff  has 


The  Master-Christian.  585 

placed  his  ban  against  this  most  infamous  picture,  and  all 
that  the  true  servants  of  the  Church  can  do  to  check  its 
pernicious  influence,  will  be  done.  But  it  cannot  be  for- 
gotten that  Your  Eminence  is  closely  connected  with  all 
these  regrettable  events,  and  as  we  have  no  actual  proof  of 
the  authenticity  of  the  miracle  you  are  alleged  to  have 
performed  at  Rouen,  the  Holy  Father  is  reluctantly  com- 
pelled to  leave  that  open  to  doubt.  The  Archbishop  of 
Rouen  very  strenuously  denies  the  honesty  of  the  mother 
of  the  child  supposed  to  be  healed  by  you,  and  states  that 
she  has  not  attended  Mass  or  availed  herself  of  any  of  the 
Sacraments  for  many  years.  We  are  willing  to  admit 
that  Your  Eminence  may  personally  have  been  unsuspect- 
ingly made  party  to  a  fraud, — but  this  does  not  free 
you  from  the  other  charges,  (notably  that  of  ex- 
onerating the  late  Abbe  Vergniaud,)  of  which  you  stand 
arraigned.  Remembering,  however,  the  high  repute  en- 
joyed by  Your  Eminence  throughout  your  career,  and 
taking  into  kindly  consideration  your  increasing  age  and 
failing  health,  the  Holy  Father  commissions  me  to  say 
that  all  these  grievous  backslidings  on  your  part  shall  be 
freely  pardoned  if  you  will, — Firstly, — repudiate  all  con- 
nection with  your  niece,  Angela  Sovrani,  and  hold  no 
further  communication  with  her  or  her  father  Prince  So- 
vrani,— Secondly, — that  you  will  break  off  your  acquaint- 
ance with  the  socialist  Aubrey  Leigh  and  his  companion 
Sylvie  Hermenstein,  the  renegade  from  the  Church  of  her 
fathers, — and  Thirdly, — that  you  will  sever  yourself  at 
once  and  forever  from  the  boy  you  have  taken  under  your 
protection.  This  last  clause  is  the  most  important  in  the 
opinion  of  His  Holiness.  These  three  things  being  done, 
you  will  be  permitted  to  return  to  your  diocese,  and  pur- 
sue the  usual  round  of  your  duties  there  to  the  end.  Fail- 
ing to  fulfil  the  Holy  Father's  command?  the  alternative 
is  that  you  be  deprived  of  your  Cardinal's  hat  and  your 
diocese  together. 

"  It  is  with  considerable  pain  that  I  undertake  the 
transcribing  of  the  commands  of  the  Holy  Father,  and  I 
much  desired  Monsignor  Gherardi  to  follow  you  to  Lon- 
don and  lay  these  matters  before  you  privately,  with  all 
the  personal  kindness  which  his  friendship  for  you  makes 
possible,  but  I  regret  to  say,  and  you  will  no  doubt  regret 
to  learn,  that  he  has  been  smitten  with  dangerous  illness- 


586 


The  Master-Christian 


and  fever,  which  for  the  time  being  prevents  his  attention 
to  duty.     Trusting  to  hear  from  you  with  all  possible 
speed  that  Your  Eminence  is  in  readiness  to  obey  the  Holy 
Father's  paternal  wish  and  high  command,  I  am, 
Your  Eminence's  obedient  servant  in  Christ, 

LORENZO  MORETTI." 

The  Cardinal  read  this  letter  through  once — twice — 
then  the  paper  dropped  from  his  hands. 

"  My  God,  my  God !  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me !  "  he 
murmured.  "  What  have  I  done  in  these  few  months ! 
What  must  I  do !  " 

A  light  touch  on  his  arm  roused  him.  Manuel  con- 
fronted him. 

"Why  are  you  sorrowful,  dear  friend?  Have  you 
sad  news  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  child  !  Sad  news  indeed !  I  am  commanded 
by  the  Pope  to  give  up  all  I  have  in  the  world !  If  it  were 
to  give  to  my  Master  Christ  I  would  give  it  gladly, — but 
to  the  Church — I  cannot !  " 

"  What  does  the  Pope  ask  you  to  resign  ? "  said 
Manuel. 

"  My  niece  Angela  and  all  her  love  for  me ! — my  friend- 
ship with  this  brave  man  Aubrey  Leigh  who  works  among 

the  outcast  and  the  poor, but  more  than  all  this, — 

he  asks  me  to  give  You  up — you !  My  child,  I  cannot !  " 

He  stretched  his  thin  withered  hands  out  to  the  slight 
boyish  figure  in  front  of  him. 

"  I  cannot !  I  am  an  old  man,  near — very  near — to  the 
grave — and  I  love  you !  I  need  you ! — without  you  the 
world  is  dark!  I  found  you  all  alone — I  have  cared  for 
you  and  guarded  you  and  served  you — I  cannot  let  you 
go !  "  The  tears  filled  his  eyes  and  rolled  down  his  worn 
cheeks.  "  I  cannot  lose  my  last  comfort !  "  he  repeated 
feebly.  "  I  cannot  let  You  go !  " 

Silently  the  boy  gave  his  hands  into  the  old  man's  fer- 
vent clasp,  and  as  Bonpre  bent  his  head  upon  them  a  sense 
of  peace  stole  over  him, — a  great  and  solemn  calm. 
Looking  up  he  saw  Manuel  earnestly  regarding  him  with 
eyes  full  of  tenderness  and  light,  and  a  smile  upon  his 
lips. 

"  Be  of  good  courage,  dear  friend !  "  he  said.  "  The 
time  of  trial  is  hard,  but  it  will  soon  be  over.  You  must 


The  Master-Christian.  587 

needs  part  from  Angela! — but  remember  she  has  great 
work  still  to  do,  and  she  is  not  left  without  love!  You 
must  also  part  from  Aubrey  and  his  wife — but  they  too 
are  given  high  tasks  to  fulfil  for  God's  glory — and, — 
they  have  each  other !  Yes ! — you  must  part  with  all 
these  things,  dear  friend — they  are  not  yours  to  retain ; — 
and  if  you  would  keep  your  place  in  this  world  you  must 
part  with  Ale !  " 

"Xever!"  cried  Bonpre,  moved  to  sudden  passion. 
"  I  cannot !  To  me  the  world  without  you  would  be 
empty !  " 

As  he  spoke  these  words  a  sudden  memory  rang  in  his 
brain  like  a  chime  from  some  far-distant  tower  echoing 
over  a  width  of  barren  land.  "  For  me  the  world  is 
empty !  "  had  been  the  words  spoken  by  Manuel  when  he 
had  first  found  him  leaning  against  the  locked  Cathedral 
door  in  Rouen.  And  with  this  memory  came  another,  the 
vision  he  had  seen  of  the  end  of  the  world,  and  the  words 
he  had  heard  spoken  by  some  mysterious  voice  in  his 
sleep, — "  The  light  shineth  in  darkness  and  the  darkness 
comprehendeth  it  not !  "  And  still  he  looked  pleadingly, 
earnestly,  almost  fearingly,  into  the  face  of  his  foundling. 

"  We  must  speak  of  this  again,"  said  Manuel  then, 
gently.  "  But  to-night,  for  at  least  some  hours,  you  must 
rest!  Have  patience  with  your  own  thoughts,  dear 
friend !  To  part  with  earthly  loves  is  a  sorrow  that  must 
always  be; — Angela  is  young  and  you  are  old! — she  has 
her  task  to  do,  and  yours  is  nearly  finished !  You  must 
part  with  Aubrey  Leigh, — you  cannot  help  him, — his 
work  is  planned, — his  ways  ordained.  Thus,  you  have 
no  one  to  command  your  life  save  the  Church, — and  it 
seems  that  you  must  choose  between  the  Church  and  me ! 
To  keep  Me,  you  must  forego  the  Church.  To  keep  the 
Church  you  must  say  farewell  to  Me !  But  think  no  more 
of  it  just  now sleep  and  rest leave  all  to  God !  " 

The  Cardinal  still  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  ?  You  will  not,  for  a  thought 
of  saving  me  from  my  difficulties,  go  from  me?  If  I 
sleep  I  shall  find  you  when  I  wake  ?  " 

"  I  will  never  leave  you  till  you  bid  me  go ! "  answered 
Manuel.  "  And  if  I  am  taken  far  from  hence  you  shall 
go  with  me !  Rest,  dear  friend — rest,  true  servant  of  God  ! 
Rest  without  thought — without  care — till  I  call  you !  " 


XXXIX. 

THE  night  darkened  steadily  down  over  London, — a 
chill  dreary  night  of  heavy  fog,  half-melting  into  rain. 
Cardinal  Bonpre,  though  left  to  himself,  did  not  rest  at 
once  as  Manuel  had  so  tenderly  bidden  him  to  do,  but 
moved  by  an  impulse  stronger  than  any  worldly  discretion 
or  consideration,  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Su- 
preme Pontiff, — a  letter  every  word  of  which  came 
straight  from  his  honest  heart,  and  which  he  addressed  to 
the  Head  of  his  Church  directly  and  personally,  without 
seeking  the  interposition  of  Lorenzo  Moretti.  And  thus 
he  wrote,  in  obedience  to  the  dictate  of  his  own  soul — 

"  MOST  HOLY  FATHER  ! — I  have  this  day  receive.: 
through  Monsignor  Moretti  the  text  of  certain  com- 
mands laid  by  Your  Holiness  upon  me  to  fulfil  if  I  would 
still  serve  the  Church,  as  I  have  in  all  truth  and  devotion 
served  it  for  so  many  years.  These  commands  are  diffi- 
cult to  realise,  and  still  more  difficult  to  obey, — I  would 
rather  believe  that  Your  Holiness  has  issued  them  in  brief 
anger,'  than  that  they  are  the  result  of  a  reasonable  con- 
viction, or  condition  of  your  own  heart  and  intellect.  In 
no  way  can  I  admit  that  my  conduct  has  been  of  a  nature 
to  give  offence  to  you  or  to  the  Holy  See,  for  I  have 
only  in  all  things  sought  to  obey  the  teaching  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  upon  whose  memory  our  faith  is 
founded.  Your  Holiness  desires  me,  first,  to  cease  every 
communication  with  the  only  relatives  left  to  me  on  earth, 
— my  brother-in-law  Pietro  Sovrani  and  his  daughter, 
the  daughter  of  my  dead  sister,  my  niece  Angela.  You 
demand  the  severance  of  these  bonds  of  nature,  because 
my  niece  has  produced  a  work  of  art,  for  which  she  alone 
is  responsible.  I  venture  most  humbly  to  submit  to  Your 
Holiness  that  this  can  scarcely  be  called  true  Christian 
justice  to  me, — for,  whereas  on  the  one  side  I  cannot  be 
made  answerable  for  the  thoughts  or  the  work  of  a  sepa- 
rately responsible  individual,  on  the  other  hand  I  should 

588 


The  Master-Christian.  589 

surely  not  be  prohibited  from  exercising  my  influence,  if 
necessary,  on  the  future  career  of  those  related  to  me  by 
blood  as  well  as  endeared  to  me  by  duty  and  affection. 
My  niece  has  suffered  more  cruelly  than  most  women; 
and  it  is  entirely  owing  to  her  refusal  to  speak,  that  the 
memory  of  Florian  Varillo,  her  late  affianced  husband,  is 
not  openly  branded  as  that  of  a  criminal,  instead  of  being1 
as  now,  merely  under  the  shadow  of  suspicion.  For  \ve 
know  that  he  was  her  assassin, — all  Rome  feels  the  truth, 
— and  yet  being  dead,  his  name  is  left  open  to  the  benefit 
of  a  doubt  because  she  who  was  so  nearly  slain  by  him 
she  loved,  forgives  and  is  silent.  I  submit  to  Your 
Holiness  that  this  forgiveness  and  silence  symbolise  true 
Christianity,  on  the  part  of  the  poor  child  who  has  fallen 
under  your  displeasure, — and  that  as  the  Christian  Creed 
goes,  your  pity  and  consideration  for  her  should  some- 
what soften  the  ban  you  have  set  against  her  on  account 
of  the  work  she  has  given  to  the  world.  As  a  servant  of 
Holy  Church  I  deeply  deplore  the  subject  of  that  wcrk, 
while  fully  admitting  its  merit  as  a  great  conception  of 
art, — but  even  on  this  point  I  \vould  most  humbly  point 
out  to  Your  Holiness  that  genius  is  not  always  under  the 
control  of  its  possessor.  For  being  a  fire  of  most  search- 
ing and  persuasive  quality  it  does  so  command  the  soul, 
and  through  the  soul  the  bra^in  and  hand,  that  oftentimes 
it  would  appear  as  if  the  actual  creator  of  a  great  work  is 
the  last  unit  to  be  considered  in  the  scheme,  and  that  it 
has  been  carried  out  by  some  force  altogether  beyond  and 
above  humanity.  Therefore,  speaking  with  all  humility 
and  sorrow,  it  may  chance  that  Angela  Sovrani's  picture 
'  The  Coming  of  Christ '  may  contain  a  required  lesson 
to  us  of  the  Church  as  well  as  to  certain  sections  of  certain 
people,  and  that  as  all  genius  comes  from  God,  it  would 
be  well  to  enquire  earnestly  whether  we  do  not  perhaps  in 
these  days  need  some  hint  or  warning  of  the  kind  to  re- 
call us  from  ways  of  error,  ere  we  wander  too  far.  But, 
having  laid  this  matter  straightly  before  Your  Holiness, 
I  am  nevertheless  willing  to  accede  to  your  desire,  and  see 
my  young  niece  and  her  father  no  more.  For  truly  there 
is  very  little  chance  of  my  so  doing,  as  my  age  and  health 
will  scarcely  permit  me  to  travel  far  from  my  diocese 
again,  if  indeed  I  ever  return  to  it.  The  same  statement 
will  apply  with  greater  force  to  the  friendship  I  have 


590  The  Master-Christian. 

lately  formed  with  him  whom  you  call  '  heretic/ — Au- 
brey Leigh.  Your  Holiness  is  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
I  have  assisted  him  in  his  work  among  the  poor  and  deso- 
late of  London — though  I  would  it  had  been  possible  for 
me  to  do  so !  For  I  have  seen  such  misery,  such  god- 
lessness,  such  despair,  such  self-destruction  in  this  great 
English  city,  the  admitted  centre  of  civilization,  that  I 
would  give  my  whole  life  twice,  ay,  three  times  over  again 
to  be  able  to  relieve  it  in  ever  so  small  a  degree.  The 
priests  of  our  Church  and  of  all  Churches  are  here, — 
they  preach,  but  do  very  little  in  the  way  of  practice,  and 
few  like  Aubrey  Leigh  sacrifice  their  personal  entity,  their 
daily  life,  their  sleep,  their  very  thoughts,  to  help  the 
suffering  of  their  fellow-men.  Holy  Father,  the  people 
whom  Aubrey  Leigh  works  for,  never  believed  in  a  God  at 
all  till  this  man  came  among  them.  Yet  there  are  re- 
ligious centres  here,  and  teachers — Sunday  after  Sunday, 
the  message  of  the  Gospel  is  pronounced  to  inattentive 
ears  and  callous  souls,  and  yet  all  have  remained  in  dark- 
est atheism,  in  hopeless  misery,  till  their  earnest,  patient, 
sympathising,  tender  brother,  the  so-called  '  atheist,' 
came  to  persuade  them  out  of  darkness  into  light,  and 
made  the  burdens  of  their  living  lighter  to  bear.  And  will 
you  not  admit  him  as  a  Christian  ?  Surely  he  must  be ; 
for  as  our  Lord  Himself  declares,  '  Not  every  man  that 
shall  say  unto  Me  Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  king- 
dom of  heaven,  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  My  Father 
which  is  in  heaven.'  And  of  a  certainty,  the  will  of  the 
Father  is  that  the  lost  should  be  found,  the  perishing 
saved,  the  despairing  comforted, — and  all  these  things 
Aubrey  Leigh  has  done,  and  is  yet  doing.  But  I  do  not 
work  with  him — I  am  here  to  look  on — and  looking  on,  to 
regret  my  lost  youth  ! 

"  Touching  the  miracle  attributed  to  me  at  Rouen,  I 
have  gone  over  this  ground  so  often  with  Your  Holiness, 
both  by  letter  and  personally  while  in  Rome,  that  it  seems 
but  foolish  to  repeat  the  story  of  my  complete  innocence 
in  the  matter.  I  prayed  for  the  crippled  child,  and  laid 
my  hands  upon  him  in  blessing.  From  that  day  I  never 
saw  him — never  have  seen  him  again.  I  can  bear  no  wit- 
ness to  his  recovery, — your  news  came  from  persons  at 
Rouen,  and  not  from  me.  I  am  as  unconscious  of  having 
healed  the  child  as  I  am  innocent  of  having  any  part  in 


The  Master-Christian.  591 

the  disappearance  of  the  man  Claude  Cazeau.  The  whole 
thing  is  as  complete  a  mystery  to  me  as  it  is  to  Your  Holi- 
ness or  to  any  of  those  who  have  heard  the  story.  I  fully 
and  freely  admit,  as  I  have  always  fully  and  freely  ad- 
mitted, that  I  condoned  and  forgave  the  sin  of  the  Abbe 
Vergniaud,  and  this,  not  only  because  the  man  was  dying, 
but  because  we  are  strictly  commanded  to  forgive  those 
who  truly  repent.  And  on  this  point,  I  cannot  even  to 
you,  Most  Holy  Father,  admit  that  I  have  been  wrong. 

"  And  now  coming  to  the  last  part  of  Your  Holiness' 
expressed  desire,  wherein  you  ask  me  to  part  from  the 
boy  I  rescued, — the  child  Manuel,  who  is  all  alone  in  the 
world, — I  cannot  acknowledge  it  to  be  a  Christian  act  to 
desert  anyone  whom  we  have  once  befriended.  The  boy 
is  young,  and  far  too  gentle  to  fight  the  world  or  to  meet 
with  such  love  and  consideration  as  his  youth  and  sim- 
plicity deserve.  I  will  not  disguise,  however,  from  Your 
Holiness  that  I  have  been  often  much  troubled  in  mind 
regarding  his  companionship  with  me, — for  foolish  as 
you  may  judge  my  words,  I  feel  that  there  is  something 
in  him  not  altogether  of  earth, — that  he  speaks  at  times  as 
a  wise  prophet  might  speak, — or  as  an  Angel  sent  to  warn 
the  world  of  swiftly-coming  disaster!  Of  the  strangely 
daring  spirit  in  which  he  addressed  himself  to  Your  Holi- 
ness at  the  Vatican  it  is  not  for  me  to  discourse — I  cannot 
explain  it  or  condone  it,  for  I  was  overcome  with  amaze- 
ment and  fear,  and  realized  the  position  no  more  than  did 
Your  Holiness  at  the  time,  or  than  did  those  of  your  con- 
fidants immediately  around  us.  It  was  indeed  a  matter 
that  went  beyond  us  all. 

"  But  the  chief  end  of  this  letter  is  arrived  at — Your 
Holiness  asks  me  to  part  with  this  boy.  With  the  deepest 
regret  at  the  rupture  you  threaten  to  cause  between  my- 
self and  Holy  Church  if  I  disobey  this  command,  I  must 
still  utterly  refuse  to  do  so.  So  long  as  the  child  looks 
upon  me  as  a  friend,  so  long  will  I  be  one  to  him.  So 
long  as  he  will  accept  the  shelter  of  my  roof,  so  long  shall 
he  receive  it.  I  would  rather  break  with  a  dozen 
Churches,  a  dozen  forms  of  creed,  than  be  untrue  to  a 
child  who  trusts  me !  That  is  my  answer  to  Your  Holi- 
ness, and  in  giving  it  I  add  the  sincere  expression  of  my 
sorrow  to  cause  you  displeasure  or  pain.  But  I  venture 
to  pray  you,  Holy  Father,  to  pause  and  consider  deeply 


592  The  Master-Christian. 

before  you  eject  me  from  the  Church  for  so  simple  and 
plain  a  matter.  Let  me  as  one  who  is  nearing  the  grave 
in  company  with  yourself — as  one  who  with  yourself 
must  soon  stand  on  that  dark  brink  of  the  Eternal  from 
which  we  see  the  Light  beyond — let  me  most  humbly  yet 
most  earnestly  point  out  to  you  the  far  more  serious 
things  than  my  offence,  which  are  threatening  Rome  to- 
day. The  people  of  all  lands  are  wandering  away  from 
faith,  and  wars  and  terrors  are  encompassing  the  land. 
The  lust  of  gold  and  pride  of  life  are  now  the  chief  ob- 
jects of  man's  existence  and  desire,  and  there  was  hardly 
ever  a  time  in  history  when  utter  indifference  to  the  laws 
of  God  was  more  openly  exhibited  than  it  is  just  now. 
The  sin  of  unbelief  and  all  the  evils  attendant  on  that  sin 
are  steadily  increasing,  and  the  Church  seems  powerless 
to  stop  the  approaching  disaster.  Is  it,  that  knowing  her- 
self to  be  weak,  she  does  not  make  the  attempt  to  be 
strong?  If  this  is  so,  she  must  fall,  and  not  all  the  get- 
ting-in  of  gold  will  help  her !  But  you,  Holy  Father — you 
might  arrest  all  this  trouble  if  you  would !  If  you  would 
change  the  doctrines  of  Superstition  for  those  of  Science 
— if  you  would  purify  our  beautiful  creed  from  pagan  ob- 
servances and  incredible  idolatries — if  you  would  raise  the 
Church  of  Rome  like  a  pure  white  Cross  above  the  black- 
ening strife,  you  might  save  the  sinking  ship  of  faith 
even  now  !  So  little  is  needed ! — simplicity  instead  of  os- 
tentation— voluntary  poverty  instead  of  countless  riches, 
spiritual  power  instead  of  the  perpetual  cry  for  temporal 
power, — the  doctrine  of  Christ  instead  of  the  doctrine  of 
Church  Councils — and  the  glad  welcoming  and  incorpo- 
ration of  every  true,  beautiful,  wise  and  wonderful  dis- 
covery of  the  age  into  the  symbolic  teaching  of  our  Creed 
Holy  Father,  if  this  is  not  done,  then  things  old  must  dis- 
appear to  make  room  for  things  new, — and  a  new  Church 
of  Christ  must  rise  from  the  ashes  of  Rome!  We  can- 
not but  call  to  mind  the  words  of  St.  John, '  Repent  and, do 
the  first  works,  or  else  I  will  come  quickly  and  remove  thy 
candlestick  from  its  place.'  '  Do  the  first  works.'  Holy 
Father,  those  first  works,  as  exemplified  in  Christ  Him- 
self, .were  love,  charity,  pity  and  pardon  for  all  men! 
With  all  my  heart  I  beseech  Your  Holiness  to  let  these 
virtues  simplify  and  sustain  our  Church, — and  so  raise 
it  a  burning  and  shining  light  of  loving-kindness  and 


The  Master-Christian.  593 

universal  tolerance, — so  shall  it  be  the  true  city  set  on  a 
hill  which  shall  draw  all  men  to  its  shelter!  But  if  un- 
just judgment,  intolerance,  cruelty  and  fanaticism, 
should  again  be  allowed,  as  once  before  in  history, 
to  blot  its  fairness  and  blight  its  reputation,  then 
there  is  not  much  time  left  to  it, — inasmuch  as 
there  is  a  force  in  the  world  to-day  likely  to  prove 
too  strong  for  many  of  us, — a  mighty  combat  for 
Truth,  in  which  conflicting  creeds  will  fight  their 
questions  out  together  with  terrible  passion  and  insist- 
ence, bringing  many  souls  to  grief  and  pitiful  disaster. 
You,  Holy  Father,  can  arrest  all  this  by  making 
the  Church  of  Rome,  Christian  rather  than  Pagan — by 
removing  every  touch  of  idolatry,  every  recollection  of 
paid  prayers,  and  by  teaching  a  lofty,  pure  and  practical 
faith  such  as  our  Redeemer  desired  for  us,  so  that  it  may 
be  a  refuge  in  the  storm,  a  haven  wherein  all  the  world 
shall  find  peace.  This  is  for  you  and  for  those  who  come 
after  you  to  do, — I,  Felix  Bonpre,  shall  not  be  here  to  see 
the  change  so  wrought,  for  I  shall  have  gone  from  hence 
to  answer  for  my  poor  stewardship, — God  grant  I  may 
not  be  found  altogether  wanting  in  intention,  though  I 
may  have  been  inadequate  in  deed !  And  so  with  my 
earnest  prayer  for  your  health  and  long  continuance  of 
life  I  bid  you  farewell,  asking  you  nothing  for  myself  at 
all  but  a  reasonable  judgment, — unprejudiced  and  calm 
and  Christlike, — which  will  in  good  time  persuade  you 
that  it  would  be  but  a  cruelty  to  carry  out  your  indigna- 
tion against  me  by  depriving  me  of  that  diocese  where  all 
my  people  know  and  love  me, — simply  because  I  have 
befriended  a  child,  and  because  having  once  befriended 
him  I  refuse  to  desert  him.  But  if  your  mind  should  re- 
main absolutely  fixed  to  carry  out  your  intentions  I  can 
only  bow  my  head  to  your  will  and  submit  to  the  stroke  of 
destiny,  feeling  it  to  be  my  Master's  wish  that  I  should 
suffer  something  for  His  sake,  and  knowing  from  His 
words  that  if  I  'offend  one  of  these  little  ones,'  such  as 
this  friendless  boy,  'it  were  better  for  me  that  a 'millstone 
were  hung  about  rny  neck  and  I  myself  drowned  in  the 
depths  of  the  seal '  Between  the  Church  doctrine  and 
Christ's  own  gospel,  I  choose  the  gospel ;  between  Rome's 
discipline  and  Christ's  command  I  choose  Christ's  com- 
mand,— and  shall  be  content  to  be  glad  or  sorrowful,  for- 


594  The  Master-Christian. 

tunate  or  poor,  as  equally  to  live  or  die  as  my  Master, 
and  your  Master,  shall  bid.  For  we  all  are  nothing  but 
His  creatures,  bound  to  serve  Him,  and  where  we  serve 
Him  not  there  must  be  evil  worse  than  death. 

"  So  in  all  humbleness  still  awaiting  a  more  reason- 
able decision  at  your  hands,  I  am,  Most  Holy  Father, 
Your  faithful  servant  and  brother  in  Christ, 

FELIX  BONPRE." 

This  letter  finished,  signed  and  sealed,  the  Cardinal  ad- 
dressed it  and  enclosed  it  under  cover  to  one  of  the  sec- 
retaries at  the  Vatican  who  he  knew  might  be  trusted  to 
deliver  it  personally  into  the  Supreme  Pontiff's  own 
hands.  Then  stretching  out  his  arms  wearily  he  closed 
his  eyes  for  a  moment  with  a  sigh  of  mingled  relief  and 
fatigue.  The  night  was  very  cold,  and  though  there  had 
been  a  fire  in  the  room  all  day,  it  had  died  down  in  the 
grate,  and  there  were  only  a  few  little  dull  embers  now 
glowing  at  the  last  bar.  The  chill  of  the  air  was  deep- 
ening, and  a  shiver  ran  through  the  spare,  fragile  form  of 
the  venerable  prelate  as  he  rose  at  last  from  his  chair  and 
prepared  to  take  his  rest.  His  sleeping  room  was  a  very 
small  one,  adjoining  that  in  which  he  now  stood,  and  as 
he  glanced  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  time  had  gone  on 
so  rapidly  that  it  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  he  decided 
that  he  would  only  lie  down  for  two  or  three  hours. 

"  For  there  is  much  to  do  yet,"  he  mused.  "  This  one 
letter  to  the  Pope  will  not  suffice.  I  must  write  to  An- 
gela,— to  say  farewell  to  her,  poor  child ! — rand  give  her 

once  more  my  blessing and  then  I  must  prepare  the 

way  at  home — for  myself,  and  also  for  Manuel."  He 
sighed  again  as  the  vision  of  his  own  house  in  the  peace- 
ful old-world  French  town  far  away,  floated  before  his 
mental  sight, — almost  he  heard  the  sweet  chiming  of  the 
bells  in  his  own  Cathedral  tower;  which  like  a  pyramid 
of  delicate  lace-work,  always  seemed  held  up  in  the  air  by 
some  invisible  agency  to  let  the  shafts  of  sunlight  glim- 
mer through, — once  more  he  saw  the  great  roses  in  his 
garden,  pink  and  white  and  cream  and  yellow,  clambering 
over  the  walls  and  up  to  the  very  roof^of  his  picturesque 
and  peaceful  home — the  white  doves  nesting  in  the  warm 
sun — the  ripe  apples  hanging  on  the  gnarled  boughs,  the 
simple  peasantry  walking  up  his  garden  paths,  coming 


The  Master-Christian.  595 

to  him  with  their  little  histories  of  pain  and  disappoint- 
ment and  sorrow ;  which  were  as  great  to  them  as  any  of 
the  wider  miseries  of  sufferers  more  beset  with  anguish 
than  themselves.  He  thought  of  it  all  sorrowfully  and 
tenderly, — his  habit  was  ever  to  think  of  others  rather 
than  himself, — and  he  wondered  sadly,  as  he  considered 
all  the  bitterness  and  hardships  of  the  poor  human  crea- 
tures who  are  forced  into  life  on  this  planet, — why  life 
should  be  made  so  cruel  and  hard  for  them, — why  sudden 
and  unprepared  death  should  snap  the  ties  of  tenderest 
love — why  cruelty  and  treachery  should  blight  the  hopes 
of  the  faithful  and  the  trusting — why  human  beings 
should  always  be  more  ready  to  destroy  each  other  than 
to  help  each  other — why,  to  sum  all  up,  so  merciful  and 
divine  a  Being  as  Christ  came  at  all  into  this  world  if  it 
were  not  to  make  the  world  happier  and  bring  it  nearer 
to  heaven ! 

'  The  ways  of  the  Infinite  Ordainment  are  dark  and 
difficult  to  understand,"  he  said.  "  And  I  deserve  pun- 
ishment for  daring  to  enquire  into  wisely-hidden  mys- 
teries !  But,  God  knows  it  is  not  for  myself  that  I  would 
pierce  the  veil !  Nothing  that  concerns  myself  at  all 
matters, — I  am  a  straw  on  the  wind, — a  leaf  on  the  storm 
— and  whatever  God's  law  provides  for  me,  that  I  accept 
and  understand  to  be  best.  But  for  many  millions  of  sad 
souls  it  is  not  so — and  their  way  is  hard !  If  they  could 
fully  understand  the  purpose  of  existence  they  would  be 
happier — but  they  cannot — and  we  of  the  Church  are  too 
blind  ourselves  to  help  them,  for  if  a  little  chink  of  light 
be  opened  to  us,  we  obstinately  refuse  to  see !  " 

He  went  to  his  sleeping  room  and  threw  himself,  down 
on  his  bed  dressed  as  he  was,  too  fatigued  in  body  and 
mind  to  do  more  than  utter  his  brief  usual  prayer,  "  If 
this  should  be  the  sleep  of  death,  Lord  Jesus  receive  my 
soul !  "  And  as  he  closed  his  eyes  he  heard  the  rain  drop 
on  the  roof  in  heavy  slow  drops  that  sounded  like  the  dull 
ticking  of  a  monstrous  clock  piecing  away  the  time ; — 
and  then  he  slept,  deeply  and  dreamlessly, — the  calm  and 
unconscious  and  refreshing  slumber  of  a  child. 

How  long  he  slept  he  did  not  know,  but  he  was  wak- 
ened suddenly  bv  a  touch  and  a  voice  he  knew  and  loved, 
calling  him.  He  sprang  up  with  almost  the  alacrity  of 
youth,  and  saw  Manuel  standing  beside  him. 


596  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  my  child?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  friend !  "  And  Manuel  smiled  upon  him 
with  a  look  that  conveyed  the  brightness  of  perfect  love 
straight  from  the  glance  into  the  soul.  "  I  need  you  for 
myself  alone  to-night !  Come  out  with  me !  " 

The  Cardinal  gazed  at  him  in  wonder  that  was  half  a 
fear. 

"  Come  out  with  me !  " 

Those  had  been  the  words  the  boy  had  used  to  the 
Pope,  the  Head  of  the  Church,  when  he  had  dared  to 
speak  his  thoughts  openly  before  that  chiefest  man  of 
all  in  Rome! 

"  Come  out  with  me !  " 

"  Now,  in  the  darkness  and  the  rain?  "  asked  the  Car- 
dinal wonderingly.  "  You  wish  it?  Then  I  will  come  !  " 

Manuel  said  nothing  further,  but  simply  turned  and  led 
the  way.  They  passed  out  of  the  little  tenement  house 
they  inhabited  into  the  dark  cold  street, — and  the  door 
closed  with  a  loud  bang  behind  them,  shut  to  by  the  angry 
wind.  The  rain  began  to  fall  more  heavily,  and  the  small 
slight  figure  of  the  waif  and  stray  he  had  befriended 
seemed  to  the  Cardinal  to  look  more  lonely  and  piteous 
than  ever  in  the  driving  fog  and  darkness. 

"  Whither  would  you  go,  my  child  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 
"  You  will  suffer  from  the  cold  and  storm — 

"  And  you?  "  said  Manuel.  "  Will  you  not  also  suffer? 
But  you  never  think  of  yourself  at  all ! — and  it  is  because 
you  do  not  think  of  yourself  that  I  know  you  will  come 
with  me  to-night ! — even  through  a  thousand  storms ! — 
through  all  danger  and  darkness  and  pain  and  trouble, — 
you  will  come  with  me !  You  have  been  my  friend  for 
many  days — you  will  not  leave  me  now  ?  " 

"  Neither  now  nor  at  any  time,"  answered  Bonpre 
firmly  and  tenderly.  "  I  will  go  with  you  where  you  will ! 
Is  it  to  some  sad  home  you  are  taking  me  ? — some  stricken 
soul  to  whom  we  may  give  comfort?  " 

Manuel  answered  not, — but  merely  waved  his  small 
hand  beckoningly,  and  passed  along  up  the  street  through 
the  drifting  rain,  lightly  and  aerially  as  though  he  were  a 
spirit, — and  the  Cardinal  possessed  by  some  strange  emo- 
tion that  gave  swiftness  to  his  movements  and  strength 
to  his  will,  followed.  They  met  scarcely  a  soul.  One  or 
two  forlorn  wayfarers  crossed  their  path — a  girl  in  rags, 


The  Master-Christian.  597 

— then  a  man  half-drunk  and  reeling  foolishly  from  side 
to  side.  Manuel  paused,  looking  at  them. 

"  Poor  sad  souls !  "  he  said.  "  If  we  could  see  all  the 
history  of  their  lives  we  should  pity  them  and  not  con- 
demn !  " 

"Who  is  it  that  condemns?"  murmured  Bonpre 
gently. 

"  No  one  save  Man !  "  responded  Manuel.  "  God  con- 
demns nothing — because  in  everything  there  is  a  portion 
of  Himself.  And  when  man  presumes  to  condemn  and 
persecute  his  fellow-men,  he  is  guilty  of  likewise  con- 
demning and  persecuting  his  Maker,  and  outraging  that 
Maker  in  his  own  perverted  soul !  " 

The  boy's  voice  rang  out  solemn  and  clear, — and  the 
heavy  fog  drifting  densely  through  the  street,  seemed  to 
the  Cardinal's  keenly  awakened  and  perturbed  senses  as 
though  it  brightened  into  a  golden  vapour  round  that 
childish  figure,  and  illumined  it  with  a  radiation  of  con- 
cealed light.  But  having  thus  spoken,  Manuel  turned  and 
went  on  once  more, — and  faithfully,  in  a  mental  ravish- 
ment which  to  himself  was  inexplicable,  the  venerable 
Felix  followed.  And  presently  they  came  to  the  plain 
and  uncomely  wooden  edifice  where  Aubrey  Leigh  and 
his  bride  had  plighted  their  vows  that  morning.  The 
door  was  open — Aubrey  would  always  have  it  so,  lest  any 
poor  suffering  creature  might  need  a  moment's  rest,  and 
resting  thankfully,  might  see  the  Cross  and  perchance 
find  help  in  prayer. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  Manuel  then,  "  when  you 
found  me  outside  the  great  Cathedral,  how  the  doors 
were  barred  against  me  ?  This  door  is  always  open !  " 

He  entered  the  building,  and  the  Cardinal  followed, 
wondering  and  deeply  agitated.  It  should  have  been 
dark  within,  but  instead  of  darkness,  a  soft  light  per- 
vaded it  from  end  to  end,  a  warm  and  delicate  radiance, 
coloured  with  a  rose  glory  as  of  sunset — and  Bonpre  see- 
ing this  stopped,  seized  with  a  sudden  fear.  He  looked 
about  him — on  either  side  the  huge  unadorned  barn- 
like  place  was  empty, — he  and  Manuel  stood  alone  to- 
gether as  it  were  in  the  cold  vast  void.  Before  them  tow- 
ered the  Cross  on  its  raised  platform,  and  below  that 
Cross  was  the  sloping  footway  leading  to  it,  where  lay 
many  of  the  buds  and  leaves  and  blossoms  of  Sylvia's 


598  The  Master-Christian. 

bridal  flowers  given  to  her  by  the  poor,  and  yet — in  this 
empty  desolate  shed  there  was  a  sense  of  warmth  and  con- 
solation, and  the  light  that  illumined  it  was  as  the  light  of 
Heaven!  Trembling  in  every  limb,  the  Cardinal  turned 
to  his  companion — words  were  on  his  lips,  but  they  fal- 
tered and  refused  to  be  spoken  aloud.  And  Manuel 
gently  touching  him  said — 

"  Follow  me !  " 

Straight  up  through  the  centre  of  this  place  hallowed 
by  the  prayers  of  the  poor  and  the  broken-hearted,  the 
light  child-figure  moved,  the  old  man  following, — till  at 
the  footway  leading  to  the  Cross  he  paused. 

"  Here  will  we  pray  together !  "  he  said, — and  as  he 
spoke  a  smile  lighted  his  eyes  and  rested  on  his  lips — a 
smile  which  gave  his  fair  face  the  aspect  of  a  rapt  angel 
of  wisdom  and  beauty.  "  Here  will  we  ask  the  Father 
which  is  in  Heaven — the  Father  of  all  worlds — whether 
we  shall  part  now  one  from  the  other,  or  still  remain — 
together !  " 

As  he  spoke  a  rush  of  music  filled  the  air, — and  the 
Cardinal  sank  feebly  on  his  knees,  overcome  by  a  great 
wave  of  awe  and  terror  which  engulfed  his  soul — for  it 
was  the  same  divine,  far-reaching,  penetrative  music 
which  had  once  before  enthralled  his  ears  in  the  Cathe- 
dral at  Rouen.  Kneeling  he  clasped  his  worn  hands,  and 
in  all  the  dizziness  and  confusion  of  his  brain,  raised  his 
eyes  for  help  to  the  great  Cross,  bare  of  all  beauty,  save 
for  the  flowers  of  Sylvie's  strange  bridal  that  lay  at  its 
foot.  And  as  he  looked  he  saw  a  marvellous  Vision ! — a 
Dream  of  Angels  standing  on  either  side  of  that  symbol 
of  salvation ! — of  angels  tall  and  white  and  beautiful, 
whose  towering  pinions  glowed  with  the  radiant  light  of 
a  thousand  mornings !  Amazed  and  awe-stricken  at  this 
great  sight,  he  uttered  a  faint  cry  and  turned  to  his  child 
companion. 

;'  Manuel !  " 

"  I  am  here,"  answered  the  clear  young  voice.  "  Be 
not  afraid !  " 

And  now  the  music  of  the  unseen  choir  of  sound  seemed 
to  grow  deeper  and  fuller  and  grander, — and  Felix  Bon- 
pre,  caught  up,  as  it  were,  out  of  all  earthly  surround- 
ings, and  only  made  conscious  of  the  growing  ascend- 
ency of  Spirit  over  Matter,  saw  the  bare  building  around 


The  Master-Christian.  599 

him  beginning  to  wondrously  change  its  aspect.  Slowly, 
as  though  a  wind  should  bend  straight  trees  into  an  arch- 
ing round,  the  plain  walls  took  on  themselves  a  form  of 
perfect  architectural  beauty, — like  swaying  stems  of  flow- 
ers or  intertwisted  branches,  the  lines  formed  symmetri- 
cally, and  through  the  shadowy  sculptured  semblance 
came  the  gleam  of  "  a  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or 
land," — the  dazzling  light  of  thousands  of  shining  wings ! 
— of  thousands  of  lustrous  watchful  eyes ! — of  thousands 
of  dazzling  faces,  that  shone  like  stars  or  were  fair  as 
flowers !  The  Vision  grew  more  and  more  beautiful — 
more  and  more  full  of  light — and  through  veils  of  golden 
vapour,  great  branching  lilies  seemed  to  grow  and  blos- 
som out,  filling  the  air  with  perfume,  and  in  their  flow- 
ering beauty  perfected  the  airy  semblance  of  this  won- 
drous Place  of  Prayer  built  by  spiritual  hands — and  like 
a  far-off  echo  of  sweetness  falling  from  unseen  heights 
there  came  a  musical  whisper  of  the  chorus  sung  by  the 
poor — 

"  All  God's  angels  will  say,  '  Well  done  !  ' 
Whenever  thy  mortal  race  is  njn. 
White  and  forgiven, 
Thou'lt  enter  heaven, 

And  pass,  unchallenged,  the  Golden  Gate, 
Where  welcoming  spirits  watch  and  wait 
To  hail  thy  coming  with  sweet  accord 
To  the  Holy  City  of  God  the  Lord  !  " 

A  convulsive  trembling  seized  the  Cardinal's  mortal 
frame — but  the  soul  within  him  was  strong  and  invincible. 
With  hands  outstretched  he  turned  to  Manuel, — and  lo ! 
— the  boy  was  moving  away  from  him — moving  slowly 
but  resolutely  up  towards  the  Cross !  Breathless,  speech- 
less, the  aged  Felix  watched  him  with  straining  uplifted 
eyes, — and  as  he  watched,  saw  his  garments  grow  white 
and  glistening,  and  a  great  light  began  to  shine  about 
him — till  reaching  the  foot  of  the  Cross  He  turned, — 
and  then — He  was  no  more  a  child !  All  the  glory  of  the 
"  Vision  Beautiful  "  shone  full  upon  the  dying  body  and 
escaping  soul  of  Christ's  faithful  servant ! — the  Divine 
Head  crowned  with  thorns ! — the  Divine  arms  stretched 
out  against  the  beams  of  the  great  Cross ! — the  Divine 
look  of  love  and  welcome! — and  with  a  loud  cry  of 
ecstasy  Felix  Bonpre  extended  his  trembling  hands. 


6oo  The  Master-Christian. 

"  Master !  Master  !  "  he  murmured.  "  Did  not  my 
heart  burn  within  me  when  Thou  didst  talk  with  me  by 
the  way !  " 

Yearning  towards  that  Mystic  Glory  he  clasped  his 
hands,  and  in  the  splendour  of  the  dream,  and  through  the 
pulsations  of  the  solemn  music  he  heard  a  Voice — the 
Voice  of  his  child  companion  Manuel,  but  a  Voice  grown 
full  of  Divine  authority  while  yet  possessing  all  human 
tenderness. 

"  Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  servant !  Because 
thou  hast  been  faithful  over  a  few  things,  I  will  make  thee 
ruler  over  many  things !  Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy 
Lord ! ' 

And  at  that  Voice — and  in  the  inexplicable  beauty  of 
that  Look  of  Love,  Felix  Bonpre,  "  Prince  of  the  Roman 
Church,"  whose  faithfulness  Rome  called  in  question, 
gave. up  his  mortal  life, — and  with  a  trembling  sigh  of 
death  and  delight  intermingled,  fell  face  forward  at  the 
foot  of  the  Cross,  where  the  radiance  of  his  Master's  Pres- 
ence shone  like  the  sun  in  heaven !  And  as  he  passed 
from  death  to  life,  the  Vision  faded — the  light  grew  dim, 
— the  arches  of  the  heavenly  temple  not  made  with  hands 
melted  away  and  rolled  up  like  clouds  of  the  night  dis- 
persing into  space — the  last  dazzling  Angel  face,  the  last 

branch  of  Heavenly  flowers — vanished and  the  music 

of  the  spheres  died  into  silence.  And  when  the  morning 
sun  shone  through  the  narrow  windows  of  that  Place  of 
Prayer  dedicated  only  to  the  poor,  its  wintry  beams  en- 
circled the  peaceful  form  of  the  Dead  Cardinal  with  a 
pale  halo  of  gold, — and  when  they  came  and  found  him 
there  and  turned  his  face  to  the  light — it  was  as  the  face 
of  a  glorified  saint,  whom  God  had  greatly  loved ! 

And  of  the  "  Cardinal's  foundling  " — what  of  Him  ? 
Many  wondered  and  sought  to  trace  Him,  but  no  one 
ever  heard  where  He  had  gone.  Now, — when  the  Car- 
dinal himself  has  been  laid  to  rest  in  the  shadow  of  his 
own  Cathedral  spires — and  the  roses  which  he  loved  so 
well  are  growing  into  a  crimson  and  white  canopy  over 
his  quiet  grave,  there  are  those  who  wonder  who  that 
lonely  child  wanderer  was, — and  whether  He  ever  will 
return?  '"Some  say  He  has  never  disappeared, — but  that 
in  some  form  or  manifestation  of  wisdom,  He  is  ever  with 


The  Master-Christian.  60 1 

us,  watching  to  see  whether  His  work  is  well  or  ill  done, 
— whether  His  flocks  are  fed,  or  led  astray  to  be  devoured 
by  wolves — whether  His  straight  and  simple  commands 
are  fulfilled  or  disobeyed.  And  the  days  grow  dark  and 
threatening — and  life  is  more  and  more  beset  with  diffi- 
culty and  disaster — and  the  world  is  moving  more  and 
more  swiftly  on  to  its  predestined  end — and  the  Churches 
are  as  stagnant  pools,  from  whence  Death  is  far  more 
often  born  than  Life. 

And  may  we  not  ask  ourselves  often  in  these  days  the 
question, — 

"  When  the  Son  of  Man  cometh,  think  ye  He  shall  find 
faith  on  earth  ?  " 


APPENDIX. 

RELICS    OF    PAGANISM    IN    CHRISTIANITY    AS   APPROVED   BY 
ENGLISH     BISHOPS. 

The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  on  being  questioned  as 
to  certain  Roman  observances  carried  on  at  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's, Dover,  admitted  "  There  may  be  irregularities," 
but  added  "  they  do  not  appear  to  be  of  any  importance." 
One  of  these  "  unimportant  irregularities  "  was  the  intro- 
duction of  the  Confessional. 

The  Archbishop  of  York  considers  the  use  of  incense, 
which  is  a  relic  of  paganism,  "  a  most  beautiful  and  sig- 
nificant symbol  of  Divine  Service  " — and  though  the  serv- 
ices at  Christ  Church,  Doncaster,  are  known  to  be  but  a 
very  slightly  modified  form  of  the  Romish  ritual,  His 
Grace  has  not  seen  fit  to  interfere.  The  parish  church  of 
Hensall-cum-Heck,  in  the  Archbishop's  diocese,  is  en- 
tirely Roman  Catholic,  and  the  Vicar,  Mr.  E.  H.  Bryan, 
might  from  his  practices,  be  a  priest  of  Rome  endeavour- 
ing by  secret  methods  to  "  convert "  his  parish  to  the 
Holy  See. 

The  Bishop  of  London  sanctions  the  use  of  incense  and 
permits  children's  Masses  and  hymns  to  the  Virgin. 

The  Bishop  of  Chester  advises  the  Rev.  W.  C.  Reid, 
Vicar  of  Coppenhall,  to  use  incense  preceding  the  service 
of  Holy  Communion. 

The  Bishop  of  Chichcstcr  ignores  the  fact  that  at  St. 
Bartholomew's,  Brighton,  seven  hundred  confessions 
were  heard  before  Christmas,  1898,  and  that  teh  thousand 
were  heard  in  that  parish  last  year. 

The  Bishop  of  Lincoln  preached  at  "  High  Mass  "  at 
St.  Mary  Magdalene,  Paddington,  on  January  7,  1899. 

603 


604  Appendix. 

The  only  difference  in  the  service  on  this  occasion  from 
that  of  the  Roman  Church  was  the  use  of  the  Eng- 
lish language  instead  of  Latin. 

The  Bishop  of  Oxford,  on  being  appealed  to  by  par- 
ishioners or,  auuary  n,  1900,  attending  at  the  Church 
of  St.  John,  Cowley,  Oxford,  and  asked  to  suppress  the 
Romish  practices  carried  on  there,  which  were  totally 
out  of  keeping  with  the  simplicity  of  true  Christian  wor- 
ship, gave  them  no  redress. 

The  Bishop  of  St.*  Albans,  charged  in  the  House  of 
Lords  with  favouring  practices  not  lawful  in  the  Church 
of  England,  declined  to  answer.  On  this  point  the  Daily 
Telegraph  wrote — "  Does  the  Bishop  of  St.  Albans  un- 
derstand that  he  is  responsible  to  the  State  as  well  as  to 
his  own  conscience?  Has  he  any  inkling  of  the  no- 
torious fact  that  the  proper  administration  of  a  diocese 
is  not  a  private  or  a  personal  matter,  but  an  onerous  pub- 
lic task,  for  which  he  is  rightly  held  accountable  ?  " 


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